


Tattoo

by EmmAnnWithAnE



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Growing Up, Misunderstandings, dealing with grief, friendship and family - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-11
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-01 04:34:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1040392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmmAnnWithAnE/pseuds/EmmAnnWithAnE
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of the Triwizard Tournament Harry is left on his own to cope with guilt - but he's fine really, why wouldn't he be? It's not the first time someone's tired to kill him, not even the first time he's seen someone die. He really shouldn't have expected anything different when he got shipped back to the Dursleys for the summer, no matter how much he hates it. So when Fleur Delacour has a brilliant idea for how to honour Cedric's memory and cement the bonds of friendship all in one go - who was he to say no?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> *This particular world and everything in it belongs to J.K. Rowling, the rest is me putting words in her characters mouths.*

            Harry was lying awake in his hospital wing bed, picking at the sheets and fighting to stay awake so he didn’t have to see the flash of brilliant green and set of vacant eyes that haunted his dreams.

            The door at the far end of the ward creaked open and Harry shut his eyes tight, feigning sleep. Two sets of footsteps crept closer to his bed, and Harry slid his hand under his pillow, gripping his wand. He lay tense, waiting.

            A hand reached out, and had barely touched his shoulder before he had drawn his wand and aimed it right between the intruders’ eyes.

            “’Arry!” the intruder gasped, “calm toi! It is only me! Fleur!”

            It certainly sounded like Fleur. Harry muttered _lumos_ under his breath, illuminating the wide eyed form of Fleur Delacour, her hand still out stretched towards him. Behind her stood Viktor Krum, looking as dour as ever.

            Harry lowered his wand and sat up a little straighter, “What are you guys doing here?”

            Fleur relaxed as he lowered his wand, and sat herself on the edge of his bed. Krum contended himself to remain exactly where he was, though Harry thought he saw his shoulders relax a bit.

            “Ve vished to speak to you.” Krum mumbled.

            “Why?” Harry asked, brow furrowing.

            “Because,” Fleur said, smoothing out her night robe, “we were all in that maze, together.”

            Harry felt rather like his insides were freezing from the inside out. They _would_ be here to talk about that.

            “We were all Champions,” Fleur continued, seeming not to notice Harry’s inner turmoil, “And now one of us is gone. We – “

            “I never meant for Cedric to die.”

            Fleurs’ mouth snapped shut with a _click_ of teeth; Krum shifted uncomfortably.

            “We know that ‘Arry,” Fleur soothed, patting his knee, “we only wished to honour Cedric together. Commes des Champions.”

            “Honour him?” Harry asked, glancing at Krum, who nodded. “How?”

            “Tattoo.” Krum said.

            “Oui, we thought getting a tattoo in memory of Cedric would do nicely.” Fleur said nodding brightly.

            “A tattoo.” Harry parroted, looking down at his hands.

            “You do not ‘ave to ‘Arry.” Fleur said watching him inspect his knuckles, “It is only an idea.”

            “No! It’s a great idea,” Harry assured her hastily, “Where, umm, where were you thinking of getting them put?”

            Fleur immeditately perked up. She crossed her left arm over her body, reaching over her right shoulder and splaying her fingers across the shoulder blade.

            “We thought ‘ere.” She said, turning slightly so Harry could see.

            Krum nodded his consent, and Harry nodded back.

            “When were you thinking of getting it done, then? I can’t exactly pick up and leave yet.” Harry said bitterly, sweeping a hand indicating the hospital wing.

            “Non, non. We thought to wait until the summer. Viktor knows un monsieur, close to ‘is ‘ome who will do it. ‘E is supposed to be very good.”

            “Close to his home?” Harry asked, blinking, “like in Bulgaria?”

            “Yes.” Krum bit off.

            “That might be a problem for me.”

            Fleurs’ face fell, and Harry hurried to clarify, “I’m under age. I can’t do magic during the summer, and I don’t exactly have access to a floo.”

            “Oh?”

            “No, I live with muggles. They don’t even have a fire place . . . well, not really.” Harry trailed off, a ghost of a smile pulled at his mouth as he remembered the one time the fire place _had_ been used.

            “Well, I will just ‘ave to come collect you.” Fleur stated matter of factly, tossing her candy floss hair over her shoulder.

            “Come to collect me?” Harry asked blinking a couple of times, “As in come to the Dursleys?”

            “Oui, I think that will be the simplest solution.” Fleur smiled one of her dazzling smile, turning to Krum, “no, Viktor, do you think you could make the appointment?”

            Krum was nodding his agreement again when Harry blurted out, “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

            “Vhy not?” Krum snapped looking slightly offended.

            “Not  that,” Harry said, rubbing his eyes under his glasses, “It’s just the Dursleys, they don’t like . . . they’re not fond of, er, visitors.”

            “Well, that is no problem.” Fleur said after a long moment, regarding the younger boy worriedly, “I can come at night, or you can meet me at Diagon Ally –“

            “I can meet you in Diagon Ally.” Harry said in relief, “I can get to London, no problem.”

            “These Dursleys will take you to London, but they do not want visitors to pick you up?” Fleur asked hesitantly, even Krum was looking at him suspiciously.

             “I can get to London on my own,” Harry assured them “I’ve done it before.”

            “But not vith this Voldemort around.” Krum pointed out.

            “Well, no . . .”

            “I will come to your ‘ouse, but I will not come in.” Fleur told Harry “will that do?”

             Harry nodded after a moment, chewing on his bottom lip.

            “D’accord.” Fleur said clapping lightly, “Viktor, will make the appointment, and I will send ‘Arry an owl when I will collect ‘im.”

             Krum and Harry nodded, and she stuck out a hand to each boy respectively “Until we meet again, mes garcon.”


	2. I Never Thought

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *This particular world and everything in it belongs to J.K. Rowling, the rest is me putting words in her characters mouths.*

           Harry Potter stood sweating and shaking under his uncles twitching glare, as the man seemed to swell and turn odd shades of puce before his eyes. In his hand Harry clutched four very crumpled letters; each of them a different stage of his wonky emotions. He’d gone from disbelieving slightly numb panic, to bewildered slightly numb panic, to relieved disbelief, and finally, to indignation. Quite Frankly, Harry felt this evening had gone on quite long enough, thank you very much.

            A few hours ago he’d been nervously waiting for Fleur Delacour to come collect him from the park near Privet Dr. She’d been a bit late, but he hadn’t been worried at first – the Wealseys were usually a bit late too. The hour had grown later and later, until finally it had started to get dark and he’d decided to pack it in. He’d seen Dudley and his crew headed in the direction of Privet Dr. not long ago anyway, and it just wouldn’t do to get home after Dudley. 

            Aside from his disappointment over Fleur not showing, everything seemed to be going as usual – he bickered with Dudley, Dudley tried to punch him, Harry threatened to stun him – business as usual; right up until a chill had overtaken the ally they’d been passing through. The kind of chill that freezes your stomach and sticks needles into your spine, the kind of chill that heralds a Dementor.

            An instant of panic, a moment of desperation, an underlying determination to survive, and suddenly everything was over. He’d done it! Conjured his patronus and saved not only his own life, but his cousins too . . . well, souls anyway. Unfortunately, nearly having his soul sucked out was the highlight of Harry’s evening.

            Still reeling from the shock of Mrs. Figgs’ announcement of being a squib, Harry had stumbled into his relatives’ house, dragging Dudley along with him, straight into one of the louder interrogations of his young life. 

            Uncle Vernon, convinced Harry had harmed his precious Dudders, screamed himself hoarse, demanding to know what Harry had done, while Aunt Petunia wailed over the lethargic lump. They had both become increasingly enraged and distraught respectively as owls flew in and out of their kitchen bringing Harry his, mostly unwanted, news. As of a moment ago, he’d been expelled, told to stay put and let the grownups handle it, and given a court date. Swell. 

            What the hell was going on? Why wouldn’t anyone tell him? He just couldn’t catch a break, could he? 

            “ _Are you listening to me, Boy? I told you to set him right!_ ”

            Harry looked up into the furious face of his uncle, his jaw clenched. Harry’s whole world was spinning out of control and Uncle Vernon had the fucking nerve to be demanding _Harry_ set things straight?

            “No.”

            Uncle Vernon sucked back in an enormous breath he’d most likely intended to be screamed, it came back out on a hiss “ _What?_ ”

            “No.” Harry snapped, raising his chin high. “I’m _not_ listening to you, _Uncle_.”

            “Why you ungrateful little – “

            “Ungrateful?” Harry laughed, “Oh, that’s rich coming from you.”

            “Don’t talk to me like that you –“

            “Don’t talk to you like what?” he snarled back, “Like a great greedy egotist? ‘Cause that’s not just me talking, _Uncle,_ that’s the tru –“

            SMACK.

            Shocked, Harry put a hand to his reddened cheek. Had Uncle Vernon just _slapped_ him? He worked his jaw, feeling it strain under the swelling of abused tissue. Uncle Vernon stood with his hand half raised like he hadn’t decided whether or not he should strike Harry again. Behind him, Aunt Petunia clutched Dudley to her, determinedly not getting involved.

            Harry ignored his aunt and stared straight into his uncles’ beady little eyes, silently promising to give the Ministry a real reason to expel him if Vernon hit him again.

            They were still locked in their bizarre standoff when the door bell rang abruptly.

            As though he were responding on reflex, Uncle Vernon lumbered over towards the door. Aunt Petunia didn’t even look at him, so Harry decided to chance an escape. He made it half way up the stairs by the time Uncle Vernon had answered the door.

            “Bonjour, monsieur.”

            Harry stopped mid step in shock. So, Fleur had come to get him after all.

            “I was wondering if I could speak with ‘Arry Potter?” Harry heard her ask from behind the gargantuan wall his uncle made.

            Deciding he couldn’t leave Fleur down there to deal with Vernon on her own, he abandoned the original escape plan and bounded down the stairs.

            “Fleur!” He called, forcing a smile to curve his lips, “I didn’t think you were coming.”

            Slipping around an increasingly flustered Vernon, who merely stood staring at the ethereal young woman invading his home, Fleur enfolded Harry in a quick hug, “Je suis desole, I ‘ope you did not wait long.”

            “Not too long, no” Harry lied, trying to ignore the way Fleurs’ gaze zeroed in on his cheek.

            “I am glad,” Fleur smiled. “Viktor and I ‘ad some details to work out, but we may go now.”

            “Oh,” Harry said dumbly, his mind flicking back to Mr. Weasleys’ letter – DO NOT LEAVE YOUR AUNT AND UNCLES HOUSE. As mad as he was at the lack of information he was getting, Harry had to admit that the Weasleys had always looked out for him. They were probably just trying to protect him . . . but on the other hand how safe was he if his enemies could find him here? Wouldn’t it be safer for him to be some place secret, where no one would know where to find him? Somewhere like Bulgaria?

            Decision made, Harry turned a brilliant smile on Fleur. “Sure! How are we getting there anyway?”

            Fleur returned his smile, “I ‘ave it all taken care of, ‘Arry. Why don’t you go get your school things?”

            “My school things?” Harry repeated, frowning. “Why?”

            “Perhaps you may need them, while we are away.” Fleur said, still smiling, and squeezed his hand with more force than Harry thought the situation called for.

            “Right,” Harry said, blankly scratching at the back of his neck. “I’ll, uh, I’ll just go grab them then.”

            Harry turned from her and took the stairs two at a time. In his room his things were still mostly packed. He’d not really seen any sense in unpacking, there wasn’t really a lot of space in the room anyway; what with Dudley’s old things crammed into every available space. Harry gathered up his stray socks, shoved his school books into his trunk, and heaved the whole lot of it down the stairs, uncaringly letting the back end thump along behind him. What awaited him downstairs was a . . . thought provoking sight.

            Fleur stood by the door, humming to herself as she inspected the wallpapering. Uncle Vernon had himself plastered to the opposite wall, inching towards the kitchen, a look of pure unaltered fear smeared across his face.

            “I’ve, uh, got everything.” Harry said, eyeing his uncle curiously. What on earth had _happened_ while he was upstairs?

            “Oh, good!” Fleur clapped happily. “Viktor is expecting us, shall we go?”

            “Y-yeah.”

            Harry hauled his trunk down the hall towards her, and Fleur frowned at him struggling with its weight.

            “’Ere,” She said, pulling out her wand. In a flash she’d shrunk the trunk down to the size of a brick, summoned it, and tucked it into her bag.

            Uncle Vernon turned three different shades of puce as he opened his mouth, no doubt to shout about the freakishness in his house, only to choke on his tongue as Fleurs’ beautiful face transformed into a mask of hatred and promised pain.

            A second later she was smiling again, holding a hand out to Harry. “Come, ‘Arry.”

            Eyeing his uncle again, Harry slipped by and took Fluers’ hand. He let her lead him out into the cool summer evening, belatedly thinking he should probably let someone know where he was going. _Well,_ Harry mused, _they’re the ones always going on about the security of the post and whatever, let’s see how they like the secrets._

* * *

            At Number 12 Grimauld Place, sitting on what would be Harrys’ bed, if he were there, Hermione Granger idly turned the pages of the book she was reading. She’d been doing this for the last half hour, still adamant that she would be able to gain something from it if she just kept looking at the words. Though, she was starting to lose faith.

            Ron Weasley was sitting cross legged on his own bed across the room from her, with a chess board set out in front of him, as though _he_ thought that if he set it up it would entice her to play with him. _Not likely,_ Hermione snorted to herself, glancing over at him fondly. She’d suggest that he ask one of the twins, or Ginny to play with him, if she didn’t know it would be met with scorn.

            Ginny seemed to feel chess was far too slow of a game to waste her time on, and the twins cheated. Unabashedly.

            If Harry were here, _he_ would play with Ron. He’d lose, but he’d play, and they’d have a grand old time like always.

            Hermione sighed, thinking of her friend. They’d barely heard anything at all from him all summer, and he’d been so . . . lethargic before, she was worried about him. It wasn’t exactly a play date he’d had in that grave yard, and then he’d had to go back to those _people_.

            “What are you thinking about, ‘Mione?”

            Hermione blinked and looking over at Ron again. “Sorry, what?”

            Ron grinned, swinging his legs off his bed to face her “Just wanted to know what you were thinking about.”

            “Oh,” she mumbled, chewing her lip “Harry, actually. Do you think it’s strange how quiet he’s been this summer?”

            Ron’s smile vanished. “I dunno, ‘Mione.” He ran a hand through his ginger hair studying the carpet. “I mean, I’m not sure I’d be very chatty if it had been me, you know?”

            Hermione nodded sagely, closing her book “I know, but he looked like he was doing better when we saw him off at Kings Cross, and I hoped . . .”

            “Yeah.”

            “I just wish he were here, with us!” Hermione cried, throwing her book down onto the bed. “He needs _some_ kind of support system, and those awful people –“

            _“WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE’S BEEN ATTACKED?”_

            Ron and Hermione jumped, and stared wide eyed at the door as Ron’s mother Molly Weasley continued to scream at some poor soul three floors below them.

            “ _FOR WHAT? DEFENDING HIMSELF? WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON THOSE GOOD FOR NOTHING-“_

            A loud _crack_ , drowned out the rest of the sentence as Fred and George appeared standing on the bed next to Hermione.

            Hermione Squealed, yanking her book out from under Georges foot. “Don’t _do_ that!”

            “So, it looks like young Harry hasn’t waited for term to start before causing a ruckus.” said Fred, ignoring Hermione, and setting his twin straight.

            “What d’you mean?” Ron demanded, narrowing his eyes at his brothers “Harry’s still at the Dursleys, isn’t he? How much trouble could he have gotten into?”

            “Enough to get expelled, apparently.” George said conversationally, sitting down beside Hermione.

            _“What?”_ Ron and Hermione yelped, Ron jumping to his feet in horror.

            “Calm down,” Fred said waving a hand at them “Dumbledores’ sorting it all out.”

            “But,” Hermione spluttered. “What did he do?”

            “According to Kingsley, he produced a patronus in front of his cousin in the middle of some street.” George said, shaking his head.

            Ron and Hermione gaped at him. Ron snapped out of it first “He was just messing around, though, right?”

            Hermione glared at him, “Why would he do that? He knows we’re not allowed to use magic outside of school! And doing it out in the open where anyone could see would just be beyond stupid!”

            “Well, better him being stupid than the alternative!” Ron snapped back.

            “What alternative?”

            Ron rolled his eyes at her, “I thought you were the smart one here! Why would you have to conjure a patronus, Hermione?”

            “To ward off a Dementor.” Hermione said automatically.

            Ron, Fred, and George all looked at her as though waiting for her to connect the dots. What exactly was she missing here?

            Suddenly she gasped, clapping a hand to her mouth in wide eyed horror, “B-but what would Dementors be doing in a _muggle_ community?”

            “Looking for Harry?” George suggested, shrugging.

            Hermione stared at him for exactly twelve seconds before launching herself off the bed and out the door, Ron hot on her heals.

            They barrelled down the stairs, following Molly’s voice to a kitchen full of Order members watching as Molly chewed out a cowering figure.

            “Is Harry ok?” Hermione shouted over the din.

            Molly swallowed her next words and turned to see her youngest son and his friend standing in the door way; she fought to get her temper under control to answer the girl but her husband beat her to it.

            “Yes, Hermione, he’s just fine.” Arthur assured her smiling gently.

            “Has anyone gone to check on him?” Hermione demanded.

            “We’ve written to him,” Arthur said, “told him to stay inside, and not to give up his wand.”

            “Has he written back?” Ron asked his father.

            “Well, no – “

            “Then why hasn’t anyone gone to check on him?” Hermione asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

            “She’s right,” Molly said, nodding, “we need to make sure the poor thing is alright!”

            “Dumbledore said he’d sort it out.” Kingsley said from his seat next to Sirius at the table.

            “Dumbledore is busy at the Ministry,” Sirius put in, “it could be ages before he gets away to check on Harry.”

            “Siri’s right,” Tonks chirrup from the countertop she was sitting on, “I’ll go! I can swing by on my way to my shift.”

            “Oh, are you sure dear?” Molly said looking mildly concerned. “One of us could – “

            “Don’t be silly, Molly!” Tonks laughed, “It’ll only take a moment! Shall I tell him you’re thinking of him?” she asked Ron and Hermione.

            “That would be lovely.” Hermione said as Ron nodded behind her.

            “Tell him we can’t wait to see him.” Ron said grinning, as Tonks clapped him on the shoulder.

            “And tell him that I said ‘well done’.” Sirius called after her.

            Tonks waved to them and headed out the door, thinking she should swing by a sweet shop on the way and pick up some chocolate for the kid.

* * *

            Finally landing in Bulgaria behind a little shed in someone’s back garden Harry swallowed hard, fighting back the urge to vomit violently all over Fleurs’ feet. Apparition, Harry had discovered, was not fun.

            As the distance had been so far they’d had to make several stops. One each in Paris, Lyon, Milan, Venice, Zagreb, Belgrade, and finally their current location of Sofia. Apparently, Krum was staying here to attend a summer Quidditch training camp. It had taken them just under 20 minutes to complete the trip, which was nice, but Harry never wanted to do it again. Ever. Under _any_ circumstance. His ears felt horrid, like they’d tried very hard to stay in Surrey.

            Somewhere a door opened, spilling light into the dark garden.

            “Fleur? Is dat you?” called a familiar voice.

            “Oui,” Fleur called back. “’Arry is with me.”

            Harry followed her out from behind the shed and watched as she greeted Viktor Krum with a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

            “Harry,” Krum said holding his hand out.

            Harry shook the older boys hand, genuinely smiling at him, “Hi.”

            “Vill you be staying the veek vith Fleur?” Krum asked, letting go of his hand.

            Harry’s eyebrows arched as he looked over at Fleur “Is that why you wanted me to bring my trunk?”

            Fleur nodded smiling “Oui. You do not ‘ave to stay, mais it would please us bott if you would.”

            Krum nodded curtly.

            Harry smiled “Sounds good to me, I haven’t got anywhere to be,” he scowled suddenly “well, not until my trial anyway.”

            Krum and Fleur exchanged confused, and vaguely alarmed looks.

            “Vat trial?” Krum demanded.

            “That’s a bit of a long story, mind if we move it inside?”

* * *

            Whistling to herself to break the eerie silence that hung over Privet Dr. Tonks skipped up the walk way to number four. She knocked smartly, still whistling, and belatedly worried about waking someone up. Oh, well too late now.

            The door was yanked open and a think hoarse faced woman greeted her with a scowl, making Tonks think she had woke her up.

            “Wotcher,” Tonks said cheerfully “Could I talk to Harry for a mo?”

            The horse faced woman, who Tonks could only assume was Harry’s aunt, frowned and looked Tonks up and down before slamming the door in her face.

            Tonks stood there in shock for an entire minute. What the hell? Well, if that wasn’t just the rudest thing! Tonks hauled back and hammered on the door as loud as she possibly could.

            Two minutes later the door was yanked open again, this time by a very large man with an equally large moustache.

            “What?” moustache man demanded.

            “I’d like to speak to Harry, please.”

            Moustache man glared at her with an unwarranted amount of venom and spat “Too late he’s gone.”

            “What?” Tonks demanded, nonplused.

            “He’s gone,” moustache man snapped back “took off with that blonde bint half an hour ago.”

            “What blonde bint?”

            “Well, I don’t know!” moustache man growled “she was one of your lot! I can’t be expected to keep track of you! Now, get off my property, before I call the police!”

            With that moustache man slammed the door in Tonks’s face, though she hardly noticed. The only thing she could think was – _Oh, fuck._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *So, there’s the official first chapter! As always let me know if you notice any problems with spelling and such. You can expect an update on Friday!*


	3. The Rabble Accomplishes Nothing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *This particular world and everything in it belongs to J.K. Rowling, the rest is me putting words in her characters mouths.*

        Severus Snape exited the kitchen floo of Number 12 Grimauld Place in an ill humour; not because he was covered in ash from the filthy fire grate that hadn’t been cleaned since Merlin knows when, or because the kitchen was already full of people arguing and shouting. It wasn’t because Potter had been missing for six and a half hours, though that in and of itself would have been enough to do it. No, what had Severus ready to spit fire and brimstone was that after nearly five hours of conferring, dropping subtle questions, and even hinting to the Dark Lord himself it appeared that the brat had not been taken at all. As far as Severus could tell the damn boy had simply wandered off on his own.

        “Severus!” Lupin called bounding over with Black hot on his heals as the rest of the Order quieted down. The rest were sitting or standing around the table looking over a large map. Dumbledore sat at the head of the group with Shacklebolt and Minerva at either shoulder. Molly and Arthur sat on Shaklebolts’ left with their eldest son – the curse breaker standing slightly behind them. The Tonks girl stood in Moody’s shadow, her hair a blessedly muted shade of brown.

        “What did you find, Severus?” Lupin demanded eagerly, now standing at Severus’ elbow, hand half raised as though to tug on his sleeve like a child. Severus pulled his arm out of the werewolf’s reach to curtail the impulse.

        “Spit it out Snape!” Black snarled. “Where’s my godson?”

        Severus’ lip curled, he had a bitter barb ready for Black that most likely would have spurred yet another pointless squabble, but Dumbledore intervened with a quiet cough.

        “What have you learned, my boy?” Dumbledore asked, beckoning with a wave of his hand.

        Stepping around the werewolf and the mutt, Severus glided over to stand with Minerva. He looked down at the map and saw it was of Little Whigging; gesturing to the area around Privet Dr. he said “I recommend increasing the numbers on the search around Potter’s home; the Dark Lord does not have him.”

        “Oh, thank Merlin!” Molly cried, clutching at her chest and nearly collapsing into her husband’s arms, her son patted her on the back gingerly.

        “You’re sure?” Black demanded taking a step towards Severus, like he meant to shake the confirmation out of him, but Lupin put a hand on his arm.

        “Yes Black, I’m sure.” Severus snapped. “The Dark Lord alluded to future plans that you,” he nodded to the Headmaster, “are already aware of. Furthermore, the only Death Eaters that fit the description of ‘a blond bint’ is Narcissa Malfoy, who has not left her manor for the last two days.”

        “So, you think Harry knew this woman then? If she wasn’t a Death Eater?” Shacklebolt asked after a moment of silence.

        “Or thought he knew her,” Moody added with a grunt, “could have been a disguise.”

        “Yes, it could have.” Dumbledore mused over his steepaled fingers. “I think however, that Harry’s recent encounter with Polyjuice may have caused him to show some . . . caution with regards to potential imposters.”

        “Quite right, Albus.” McGonagall nodded brusquely. “He had to have known this woman.”

        “Then the question becomes,” Dumbledore said, leaning back, “who is she?”

        “You’re sure Dursley didn’t say anything?” Moody growled at the Tonks girl, pinning her with both eyes.

        Tonks shook her head miserably, “He just told me Harry was gone and slammed the door.” A bit of red flickered through her otherwise dull hair as she scrunched her face up petulantly. “He wouldn’t open the door again after that, had to force my way in to get a look around.”

        “And he didn’t leave anything behind?” Lupin asked, dragging Black over to sit near the girl. “No note, or . . . anything?”

        “No!” Tonks exclaimed, throwing her hands into the air and letting them smack down against her thighs to hang at her sides again. “I looked all over that house, and there wasn’t one trace of the kid! If I didn’t know any better I’d say he was never there to begin with.”

        “What do you mean?” Black barked, sitting up straight and clenching his fists until his knuckles were white. “You were at the right house, weren’t you?”

        “Of course I was at the right house!” Tonks snarled back, hands on her hips. “You really think I’d mess that up?”

        Black opened his mouth to retort, but the werewolf silenced him with a gentle hand on his arm. “He’s not saying that,” Black snorted loudly and Lupin shot him a glare, “it just seems odd. Harry has been with his Aunt and Uncle since he was fifteen months old, how could he have left no trace at all, in just one night?”

        “Magic?” Tonks said nastily with a glare of her own aimed at Black.

        “There hadn’t been any magic detected at the residence during the time that Potter would have had to make his escape.” Severus felt the need to put in, if only to see how far this pointless argument would go.

        “This isn’t helping us find Harry.” Arthur said, arm still firmly around his wife.

        “Quite right, Arthur.” Dumbledore said, sitting up a little straighter. “Hagrid is with Mr. Dursley at the moment to see if he can’t . . . persuade him to remember any further details, until then we shall have to try and seek our own answers.”

        “Albus,” Minerva said with the air of one resigned to her fate, “Are you _sure_ sending Hagrid was the wisest option? I’m just not sure he’ll be objective about this. You know he’s fond of Harry, and – “

        “Precisely, my dear.” Dumbledore said with some of his usual vigour. “The Dursleys and Hagrid have already . . . met. So, he will be able to get any information Mr. Dursley may be with holding with less resistance.”

        Minerva and Molly looked slightly nervous about this new bit of information; Black on the other hand, looked positively gleeful at the implications.

        “Now,” the Headmaster continued, “does anyone have any suggestions?”

        “Well, let’s think,” Lupin said scratching his chin, “who would Harry have trusted enough to let lead him away from his home?”

        “That’s blond.” Black put in, oh so helpfully.

        The eleven of them stood in pensive silence as they each tried to enter the mind of a fourteen year old boy and discern who exactly it was he would deem trust worthy.

        The Weasley boy turned to his father frowning. “Shouldn’t we have Ron down here for this? I mean, he is Harry’s best friend right? Wouldn’t he know?”

        Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. “Quite right, Mr. Weasley. Would you mind fetching your brother, and perhaps Miss Granger as well?”

        No sooner had the words left his mouth than a series of thuds and bangs sounded above them and continued on, heading further upstairs, until finally there was the sound of a door slamming.

        “Molly dear,” Arthur said absently, staring up at the ceiling, “did you ward the door tonight?”

        “No.” Molly answered, staring up at the ceiling too, but with considerably less amusement than her husband was starting to show. “I don’t believe I did.”

        “Well,” Arthur chuckled, “I suppose five heads are better than two; may as well go get the lot of them, Bill.”

        “Sure thing, Dad.” Bill said, trying to keep the grin off his face until his mum couldn’t see anymore. His little brothers and sister were all grown up and pretending they hadn’t been spying on secret Order rescue missions – he couldn’t wait to tell Charlie.

        Bill thumped his way up the stairs, trying to divine which room they’d scampered off to. _Well,_ he mused to himself, _they must have heard we wanted to Ronnie downstairs; let’s give that a try, shall we?_

        Sure enough, when he got to Ron’s room he found five suspiciously innocent looking teens blinking owlishly large eyes at him.

        “Come on you lot,” he said, jerking his head out the door, “everyone’s waiting on you.”

        They all stood immeaditly and followed Bill down to the kitchen. Soon Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and the twins were all seated with the Order of the Phoenix at the scared old table. While Bill had been gone Dumbledore had had everyone sit and they’d pretty much sat where they’d been standing. The exception was Snape, who it seemed had refused to sit next to Sirius and had sat between Kingsley and an open seat that Bill had taken himself.

        “Now,” Dumbledore said smiling at the five teens, “As I’m sure you’ve heard- “ Only Hermione had the good grace to look ashamed, “we are trying to think of someone who would have had reason to go and visit Harry.”

        “Who’s blond.” Ron said matter of fact-ly, pulling a grin out of Sirius.

        “Yes,” Dumbledore nodded, “someone who is blond, who Harry would trust enough to leave with.”

        The five of them exchanged glances, frowns, and a couple head shakes for a moment; finally they seemed to elect Hermione as spokeswoman.

        “Well,” she started, fidgeting a little in her seat, “that’s the thing; all of the people Harry would trust enough to go anywhere with are all _here._ ”

        “Except for Hagrid.” Ginny piped up as the others nodded.

        “Yes,” Hermione agreed, “and we know none of us took him . . . so –“

        “So you being here is a waste of time.” Snape drawled, earning him glares from most of the other occupants of the kitchen, except for Dumbledore, who nodded as though he had excepted it.

        “Can you think of anyone at all who it _might_ be?”

        Hermione frowned, tugging at the tips of her hair, “I’m not really sure.” She confessed, “Harry doesn’t really talk to that many people at all, let alone girls.”

       “He’s not a huge fan of crowds.” Ron said shrugging, “I mean he talks to Lavender and Pavarti, but he wouldn’t just take off with either of them. Heh, maybe it was Fleur.” He added with a despairing chuckle.

       “Fleur?” Bill asked frowning, “I didn’t know they kept in touch.”

       “As far as I know they didn’t,” Ron said, scratching at the back of his head.

       “Didn’t she come say ‘goodbye’, just before we all got on the train?” Ginny asked, biting a thumb thoughtfully.

       “She did,” Hermione nodded, “but they’ve never really spoken outside of Tri-Wizard functions.”

       “Yeah,” said Fred, “but she thinks –“

       “That Harry saved –“ said George,

       “Her sister – “

       “Gabrielle – “

       “Doesn’t she?” They finished together, nodding to each other like they were answering their own question.

       “Doesn’t Fleur work with you Bill?” Arthur asked his son. Bill nodded though he looked slightly hesitant.

       “When was the last time you saw her?”

       “Ugh, at work yesterday.” Bill fibbed. He’d seen her later that night too, when they’d gone for dinner, but his mother didn’t need to know that.

       “Yesterday?” Dumbledore asked, raising an eyebrow, “Not today?”

       “Yeah, she’s got a weeks vacation.” Bill answered, his stomach sinking. The rest of the Order seemed to be thinking along the same lines, but Hermione interjected.

       “I don’t think Harry would have gone with her.” She said, frowning. “They hardly spoke, and why would Fleur go looking for him? How would she even know where to find him?”

       “Those are all very good questions, Miss Granger.” Dumbledore said gravely. “I do not know the answers. However, we must explore all possible – “

       The rest of the sentence was drowned in the ear piercing screeches from the painting of Sirius’ mother out in the entrance hall as a rather heavy footed someone stumped his way towards the kitchen.

       “Ah,” Dumbledore called over the din, “there’s Hagrid.”

       A moment later the shrieks had ceased and Hagrid tip-toed into the kitchen. “Sorry,” he mumbled, closing the door as quietly as possible.

      “Well?” Sirius said impatiently watching Hagrid shuffle over and accept an enlarged chair from McGonagall set back slightly from the table. “Did Dursley remember anything?”

       Hagrid sighed heavily, pulling at his beard, “Yer not goin t’like it.”

      “Is Harry alright?” Ron asked hesitantly.

       “S’far as I can tell, he is.” Frowning Hagrid let go of his beard and looked to Dumbledore, “Dursley said tha’ Harry knew the girl, said he called her ‘Fleur’, an –“ Hagrid held up a hand as the others moved to interrupt, “ _an_ he said Harry’d been expecting her.”

       “Expecting her?” Molly shrieked, “He _planned_ this?”

       “Looks like it.” Hagird said, nodding sagely. “Apparen’ly she was late, too. Dursley said Harry mentioned he thought she migh’ not be comin.”

       “Well now, that _is_ interesting.” Dumbledore murmured, apparently to himself.

        McGonagall turned her sharp gaze to the younger Weasley children and Hermione, “Did Potter not give any sort of indication of what he planned?”

       All five shook their heads, though the emotion behind it ranged from earnest refutation to diffident denial.

       “He was so quiet a-after the Third Task.” Hermione said, cringing at her own stutter.

       “I don’t think he talked to me at all.” Ginny said, a finger on her chin.

      “He never talks to you.” Ron retorted, rolling his eyes.

      “The only time he really talked to us,” George said over his sisters furious blush, “was right before we got off the train.”

      “Yeah,” said Fred, staring down his twin like he was trying to beat a message into his skull with his eyes, “but he never said nothing about taking off like this. Did he George?”

      “No, Fred.”

      “Well now, there’s the thing.” Hagrid said leaning back in his chair, which created ominously, “Don’ think he was really planning on disappearing.”

      “What do you mean?” Molly asked, as she wasn’t sure she should fear the answer or not.

      “Dursley said Fleur told Harry to go get his trunk, real insistent like, but Harry wasn’ too clear why he needed all his stuff.”

      “So,” Sirius said slowly like he was trying to make sure he had it straight in his own head, “Harry took off with this Fleur girl, doesn’t seem to have planned this out too well, _and_ told absolutely no one where he was going or why?”

       “Yes, that about sums it up.” Remus said, rubbing his forehead tiredly. Sirius promptly threw his head back and laughed. Loudly.

       The others all eyed him with apprehension, exasperation, amusement, and outright scorn respectively until he got himself under control.

      “Bloody hell! That’s even better than the time James and I snuck out of his parents house and flew all the way to London, we met up with those Brazilian birds, remember Remus?” He said breathlessly, wiping tears off his face.

       “I hardly think that is the appropriate response to a child going missing!” Molly said thunderously, missing the impressed looks her sons and daughter were sending the ex-convict. “And he _is_ still missing, need I remind you!”

       “Yeah,” Sirius shot her a winning grin, only slightly poisoned by his years in Azkaban, “but the Death Eaters haven’t got him, and if we can’t find him how will they?”

       “Even so,” Dumbledore cut in, “we must still find him. Perhaps we could find out where Miss Delacour is taking her vacation?” He asked looking at Bill over his half moon spectacles.

       “I’ll look into it.” Bill said, getting up and thinking privately of a little address card Fleur had given him in case of emergency, half hoping it hadn’t really been her.

       “Be careful who you speak to, my boy.” Dumbledore cautioned as Bill pulled on his jacket. “It could be disastrous if word of Harry’s disappearance were to spread.”

        Bill nodded, kissed his mother on the way by, and headed to his flat to get the floo name of the place Fleur said she’d be staying at for the week. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Here's the chapter, enjoy and expect an update Tuesday!*


	4. Don't Make This Difficult

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *This particular world and everything in it belongs to J.K. Rowling, the rest is me putting words in her characters mouths.*

            Just as Snape stepped out of the floo at Number 12 Grimauld Place Harry Potter was leisurely stretching in a patch of early morning sunlight that fell across the bed that Krum had given him in Bulgaria. Harry groped around the night side table, eventually stumbling across his glasses. Yawning widely he shoved them on with one hand and reached out for his watch with the other. Shaking off the yawn he squinted at the watch. Barely half six, Harry flopped back down onto his pillow.

            The room he’d been given was rather lacking of decoration, but the bed was comfortable and the sheets were soft. The large window that was spilling sunlight onto his bed looked out over the small garden he and Fleur had appeared in the night before. In the light of day it was revealed to be little more than a patch of reasonably well tended grass with a shed at one end; but Harry hadn’t honestly thought Krum to be the gardening type, so it wasn’t much of a surprise.

            Rolling onto his back with his hands pillowed behind his head and his legs tangled in the sheets Harry couldn’t help but marvel at the break neck pace at which his life seemed to continually change. It seemed like some cruel twist of fate for him to get himself expelled like this. Expelled for crashing a flying car into a giant temperamental tree? That’s fair. Expelled for brewing a potentially dangerous potion with ingredients stolen from the potions master in a girls bathroom? Seems reasonable. Expelled for stopping a bloody Dementor from sucking out his _soul?_ That just wasn’t right. A view Fleur seemed to share. Harry cringed a little remembering how angry she’d been when he’d finished telling her and Krum what had happened.

* * *

 

            _“They cannot do this! Does the Ministry not control the Dementors? It is their own fault if ‘Arry was under attack! Of course ‘e would ‘ave to defend ‘imself!” Fleur ranted, breaking off into French when her vocabulary failed her. She stormed around the kitchen, gesturing wildly, and steadily increasing in volume._

_Wide eyed, and not entirely sure how to react, Harry sat in his chair with his jaw clamped shut, He couldn’t help but remember the Veela at the World Cup, and how when baited by the Irish teams mascots they transformed into terrifying bird creatures, who burned everything in their paths with great balls of fire. He knew it was unlikely that Fleur would be able to do the same, but Harry had no desire to test the theory._

_Harry glanced over at Krum, who had remained silent through the whole of Harry’s tale, and seemed to not even notice Fleur raving around him. He was sat across from Harry reading the letter from the ministry with Harry’s court date. With his brow furrowed, and hand rubbing over his mouth, Harry was sure that if Fleur suddenly flipped the table over the only reason he’d notice would be that his arm would fall._

_“What is the matter with the English Ministry? Can they not follow their own laws?” Fleur snarled, switching back to English. For an alarming moment Harry thought she actually wanted an answer, but she ploughed on before he could begin to stutter out a response. “Everyone knows that their is an exception for defending yourself! This is a disgrace – “_

_“There is no mention of Dementors in this letter.” Krum said, not looking up from the parchment in his hand._

_Fleur blinked once, very slowly, and cocked her head to one side, “What did you say, Viktor?”_

_Harry stared at the back of the letter, mentally running through the contents in his head. Krum was right, they hadn’t mentioned the Dementors. He hadn’t paid much attention to it, being more concerned with whether or not he was expelled at the time, but now that he thought about it, it **was** rather strange._

_“They do not mention the Dementors.” Krum said again. “Vhy?”_

_Fleur sat with a heavy sigh, “A good question.”_

_“Did they not know the Dementors were there?” Harry asked, directing his question at Krum, hoping it would be less likely to set Fleur off again._

_Krum shock his head, “I do not think so.”_

_Fleur was nodding reluctantly. “The Dementors are controlled by the Magical Law Enforcement, are they not? If they were not at Azkaban, then they would ‘ave to be sent.”_

_“But,” Harry said, “why would the Magical Law Enforcement send Dementors to Little Whinging? I’m the only wizard around for miles.”_

_Krum and Fleur exchanged a look that reminded Harry far too much of the looks Ron and Hermione often shared when he was missing something._

_“What?” Harry asked with a touch more snap than he really meant._

_“The Prophet ‘as not been very flattering of you ‘Arry.” Fleur said, gently patting his hand. “Perhaps the Dementors were sent to watch you?”_

_“What do you mean?” Harry asked, scrunching his brow. “Not flattering? Why would they be watching me? I’ve not been in the paper at all lately.”_

_Krum and Fleur exchanged another ‘Harry you’ve missed something’ look. And Harry felt his face flush._

_“I haven’t done anything since the tournament!” he insisted. “What could they possibly have written about?”_

_“They do not write articles about you, ‘Arry.” Fleur awwured him. Curling her fingers around his hand and giving a light squeeze. “They mention you only in other stories, saying things to make you seem . . . untrustworthy.”_

_“Untrustworthy?” Harry said, completely bewildered. “Why would they do that? What are they saying?”_

_“It would seem Minister Fudge does not wish the public to listen to you or Dumbledore. So, they say you are only looking for attention, that Dumbledore is not what ‘e used to be.” Fleur said gently._

_“That doesn’t make any sense,” Harry said, “the only thing I’ve ever said to ‘the public’ is that Vol – “_

_Harry trailed off, eyes glazing over as he remembered Cornelius Fudges desperate plea in the Hogwarts infirmary before he stormed out. **“He can’t be back, Dumbledore. He just can’t!”** _

_“Fudge doesn’t want people to think Voldemort is back.” He said, not really looking at either of his companions. “Does he?”_

_Fleur nodded sadly. “That is what we think.”_

_“But you believe me.” Harry said, eyes snapping to Fleurs suddenly, flicking to Krum and back. “Don’t you?”_

_“Oui, ‘Arry.” Fleur said instantly, squeezing his hand again._

_Krum nodded curtly, “Diggory vas not murdered for nothing.”_

_Relieved, Harry slumped back in his chair. “So, the Ministry wants to make everyone think I’m a liar, and what? Sent Dementors to watch me, and make sure I don’t start shouting my head off about Voldemort?”_

_Fleur opened her mouth, but Krum cut her off._

_“No.”_

_Fleur and Harry exchanged a look, one that reminded Harry of the ones he and Ron shared far too often when Hermione wasn’t explaining properly._

_“Er, no?” Harry prompted._

_“Dementors do not vatch,” Krum grumbled, “they subdue.”_

_Harry felt Fleurs’ hand tighten around his in a vice like grip, but he couldn’t find it in himself to react. Krum was right. Dementors were the guards of Azkaban for their infamous ability to keep prisoners so wrapped in their own misery and madness that restraints were hardly necessary, not for their attentiveness. He remembered Third year when the Dementors, who had been set as guards at the gates of Hogwarts, broke from their post to indulge in draining the crowd of students gathered at the Quidditch pitch of their positive emotion. That same year they’d proved that if they weren’t rigidly controlled or regularly fed they would attack indiscriminately, something Harry and his friends were intimately familiar with. So, no, the Dementors had not been sent to watch Harry._

_“Their must be some mistake.” Fleur insisted. “The Ministry would not set those creatures on a boy! The public would not stand for it!”_

_“It may not have been the Ministry.” Harry said, running a hand through his hair. “Dumbledore told Fudge that the Dementors would probably side with Voldemort. He side Fudge should remove them from Azkaban.”_

_Krum was nodding again, scratching at the five o’clock shadow on his chin. He looked deep in thought, but honestly Harry couldn’t tell. He might have been contemplating the logistics of coming to an agreement with a bunch of Dementors, or he could have been singing Pop Goes the Weasel for all Harry could read from his expression._

_“They still cannot expel ‘Arry, ‘e was defending ‘imself!”Fleur said, smacking her hand onto the table._

_“I’m not **really** expelled,” Harry said, taken aback. “I’ve got to go to my trial still.”_

_Fleur looked at him a little pityingly, like he was a tad slow. “You should not need a trial, ‘Arry. You did not do anything wrong.”_

_“Well, yeah,” Harry said ruefully, his face heating up, “but I can’t really tell the Ministry I don’t need a trial, can I? They’ll just expel me . . .again.”_

_“So ve vill prove it.”_

_“How?” Harry asked incredulously. “Ask the Dementors to confess?”_

_“Not the Dementors.” Krum snorted. “Who else vas there?”_

_“My cousin, Dudley.” Harry said, shaking his head. “But he’s a muggle, he thought it was **me** attacking him.”   _

_“Who else?”_

_“Just Mrs. Figg. She’s a squib that lives near the Dursleys.”_

_Fleur perked up at this. “Good! Do you think she will ‘elp?”_

_“Help?” Harry asked blinking. “What, like testify?”_

_Fleur nodded enthusiastically, leaning forward a little._

_“I dunno, maybe . . .”_

_“Does she ‘ave a floo?”_

_“Urgh, I don’t really know.”_

_“D’accord,” Fleur said with a sharp nod. “We will ‘ave to go see ‘er tomorrow.”_

_“Wait, go see her? Tomorrow?”_

_“Oui! We shall need all the  time we can get to prepare.” Fleur declared. “I am sorry we will not be able to stay longer, Viktor.”_

_“Vill you stay for our appointment?” Krum asked, brushing off her apology._

_“I think so.” She nodded. “Cedric deserves this. We shall honour ‘im as we said we would.”_

_“We’re going back to England?”Harry asked, a bit louder than he meant to._

_“Oui.” Fleur said, standing again and brushing herself off. “After ten I think. The appointment is at ten, non?”_

_“Aren’t you on vacation though?”Harry said over Krums’ confirming grunt._

_“I am,” Fleur smiled, shaking the hair out of her face, “but this needs to be dealt with.”_

_“But, can’t we send her an owl or something?” Harry insisted. “You really don’t have to leave early.”_

_Fleur seemed rather offended at the suggestion. Hands on her hips she huffed, “Non, I do not **‘ave** to, but I wish to. You saved my sister, ’Arry. I ‘ave not forgotten.”_

_“I didn’t really.” Harry mumbled to the table. “Dumbledore wouldn’t have let the hostages get hurt.”_

_“Perhaps,” Fleur agreed, “but you thought that she was, and you did not leave ‘er. I am grateful for that. So, I will ‘elp you ‘ow I can.”_

_“Y-you still don’t have to leave your vacation.” Harry stammered._

_“Nonsense, ‘Arry.” Fleur said waving him off. “I wish to ‘elp, so I will ‘elp, and that is that.”_

* * *

 

Krum had shown them to their rooms soon after that, with a ‘good night’ and a clap on the back. Harry scratched his nose absently wondering if either of the others were up yet.

            A soft knock on the door answered that question.

            “Yeah?” Harry called, quickly sitting up and throwing the blankets off himself.

            The door opened a crack and Fleur poked her head inside. She smiled at his bedraggled hair and crumpled pyjamas. “Good morning, ‘Arry. I ‘ope I did not wake you?”

            “Ugh, no.” Harry said, pushing his glasses further up his nose and trying in vain to flatten his hair. “I was just getting up.”

            “Bien! I was going to make breakfast, I ‘ope you are ‘ungry!” She said throwing the door open wide and going straight for his trunk.

            “I suppose,” Harry said with a bit of trepidation as she pried his trunk open and started rummaging through it. “Er, what are you doing?”

            “I am looking for something clean,” Harry chuckled nervously, wrapping his arms loosely around his knees. He was rapidly becoming used to not really knowing how to react to Fleur. He’d largely decided that she was like Dumbledore, or Mrs. Weasley, in that you really just had to stand back and let her do whatever it was she was doing and do your best to catch up in the aftermath. The rest of him was just alarmed that she was going through his things, but neither parts of him knew how to get her to stop; so he settled for watching intently.

            “They are too big!” Fleur declared, inspecting an oversized sweat shirt that, like the rest of his muggle wardrobe had once belonged to Dudley. “Your robes are not nearly so large. Is it common for muggles to dress like this?”

            “Not really.” Harry said, pulling at the hem of his night shirt. “Mine all belonged to my cousin first, he’s a bit bigger than me.”

            Fleur gave him an unamused look, apparently she felt ‘a bit’ wasn’t a very apt description of the size difference between Harry and Dudley. She picked up a few more shirts, a pair of pants, and an old leather belt that Harry had painstakingly added additional notches to himself.

            “Your Uncle, ‘e seemed to be rather well dressed.” She said, not looking up from the belt she held in both hands.

            “Yeah, he seems to think so.” Harry said, rolling his eyes with a dry little chuckle. “He’s an executive, or something, at a company that makes drills.”

            “Then why are you wearing your cousins’ old clothes?” Fleur demanded shaking his belt at him clenched in one fist. “If they can afford to, why do they not provide for you? Eh?”

            Wide eyed, Harry dropped his arms from around his knees and crossed his legs up under himself. He felt rather like he was crossing a mine felid, like one wrong word and Fleur would be spitting fire and brimstone.

            “It’s just easier, isn’t it?” Fleurs’ eyes flashed dangerously and Harry rushed on. “I mean, Dudley always out grew his clothes so fast they had to replace them every couple of months. And to be fair, they’re pretty good quality, I’ve had that sweat shirt since I was nine.”

            It was true, too. His aunt and uncle would never buy their precious Dudders substandard clothing. So, everything he had was well made, just far too large to fit him.

            Fleur was regarding the ugly yellow sweat shirt on top of the pile she’d made of his clothes. The arms were permanently wrinkled where he’d rolled them up to be able to use his hands, and the arm pits had a few tears where Dudley had given one last valiant attempt to fit into the thing.

            “Exactly ‘ow big is your cousin?”

            “Pretty big.” Harry laughed, relieved she seemed to be dropping the subject. “They tried to put him on a diet a couple of years ago, but it didn’t really work out.”

            “’Arry are you ‘appy?” Fleur blurted out, dropping the belt.

            “Er, sorry?”

            “Are you ‘appy? With your family?” She prompted.

            “Well,” Harry said, “honestly, calling the Dursleys ‘family’ is stretching it a bit. I’ve always found ‘relative’ to suit much better. Much more impersonal.”

            Fleur pursed her lips, eyes narrowed. Harry couldn’t help but fidget under her stare. Her gaze was getting frighteningly close to the soul piercing glare he usually got from Snape. It may have been lacking that final bite that had Harry convinced Snape could read his mind, but he still felt like he needed a cover story.

            “Is there no one else you can stay with?” Fleur asked while Harry was still half trying to think up an excuse for some imaginary transgression. “I do not think staying with them is the best for you.”

            “Well, I stay with my friend Ron sometimes.” Harry said, wishing he could divert this conversation. “I should probably send him an owl actually . . .”

            “Are they really your only relatives?” Fleur pushed, discarding her perusal of his trunk. “No one else for you to go to?”

            “It’s kind of complicated.” Harry hedged.

            “’ow?” Fleur sat on the edge of his bed, her roves and hair floating to settle around her in a satin halo.

            “Er, well . . .” Harry ran a hand through his hair, half wondering if she’d believe the truth, He dismissed the thought. Safer to stick to the official story.

            “Ever heard of Sirius Black?”

            “The murderer who escaped from Azkaban?” Fleur asked slowly, clearly unsure if she liked where this was going.

             “Yeah, him.” Harrys’ lip twitched down a little remembering how Sirius had looked holed up in the cave above Hogsmead, sharing rats with Buckbeak the Hippogriff. “He’s my godfather.”

            On anyone else Harry would have called Fleurs’ expression gaping, but on her it was still too delicate to be called anything so crass.

            “’Ow is that possible?” she eventually demanded, blinking rapidly and spreading her hands out in front of herself like she was waiting for him to hand her a different explanation.

            “He, ah, used to be really good friends with my dad.” Harry said, picking lint off his pants.

            “Your father was friends with a murderer?”

            “He didn’t – “ Harry nearly bit his tongue in two trying to back out of that little outburst. _She doesn’t know,_ he reminded himself firmly. “He wasn’t a murderer when they were friends.”

            “Well, they say that war changes a person.” Fleur said nodding.

            “Mhm.”

            “So, you 'ave a murder for a godfather,” Fleur said clasping her hands in her lap, “and live with a family who 'its you.”

            “What?” Harry asked flatly.

            She gave him a pitying look, and reached out to grip his knee in what he was sure she felt  was a comforting gesture. “You do not need to 'ide it ‘Arry. I saw ‘is ‘and print on your face!”

            “That wasn’t – he didn’t . . . That was the only time he’s ever done that!” Harry stammered, getting more flustered as Fleurs pitying look only intensified.

            “It is ok, ‘Arry. There is nothing to be ashamed of. It is not your fault!”

            Now Harry was gaping. What the hell had happened to going down to breakfast? How had this conversation even started?

            “I’m not ashamed,” Harry said as slowly and calmly as he could manage, “he just really doesn’t hit me.”

            “’Arry, you do not ‘ave to put up with this.” Fleur insisted, pulling Harry’s hand to herself and clasping it to her own chest, much to Harry’s embarrassment. “You are un’appy there, you do not ‘ave to be!”

            “Yeah,” Harry said, not wanting to be rude, but still almost franticly trying to pry his hand away from her. “I _am_ unhappy there, but it’s because they refer to me as ‘that boy’, and try to lock my trunk up under the stairs. They don’t let Hedwig fly at night. They hate magic, they weren’t going to let me go to Hogwarts at all. Once, they thought I used magic to ruin this dinner with Uncle Vernon’s clients and they locked me in my room for days. They fed me through a cat flap in the door. Dudley used to use me like a punching bag when we were little, my glasses were always broken because Aunt Petunia wouldn’t replace them. Uncle Vernon’s sister used to set her bull dog, Ripper, on me. I once spent an entire evening up a tree because she wouldn’t call him off. I made her blow up like a balloon the year before last, on accident. The Ministry had to talk the Dursleys into taking me ba - .” Harry stopped talking abruptly, starring at a point somewhere over Fleurs shoulder. She still held his hand, but he didn’t notice so much anymore.

            “You know when you say it out loud like that,” Harry said still looking over Fluers shoulder, “my life sounds a bit sad. And that’s before you even get to the bit about Voldemort killing my parents, and Cedric, and nearly dying in a graveyard . . . or the Chamber of Secrets. And then there’s Sirius and the Prophet, and – “

            “’Arry, you need to stop.” Fleur insisted, putting her free hand to his cheek. “One thing at a time. First we will deal with your trial, and then – “

            “Oh, bloody hell, the trial!” Harry groaned, finally succeeding in pulling his hand away from Fleur and immediately dropping his face into them. “I forgot, I’m going to be expelled, stuck with the Dursleys, and Voldemort is still trying to kill me!”

            “Non, non!” Fleur scolded, draping an arm around his shoulders and giving him a squeeze. “You are not going to be expelled, because you ‘ave done nothing wrong, and we will prove it. You will come stay with me for a little while and then we will go from there . . .  and perhaps put up some stronger wards.” She added smoothing a hand over his hair.

            “Dumbledore says I have to stay with my relatives over the summer because of the blood protection.” Harry mumbled into his hands dejectedly.

            “Does Dumbledore know that they locked you in a room for days?” Fleur asked gently, rubbing his back in little circles.

            “I dunno.”

            “Well, we will tell 'im. And if 'e does nothing then perhaps you will come to stay with me, mm?” Fleur clapped him on the back once and got to her feet. “Now, I think it is time for breakfast! Wear whatever ‘as the least ‘oles."

            Harry nodded, face still in his hands, and waited until he heard the click of the door shutting before he hauled himself up to get dressed. He sighed to himself as he pulled his jeans on. He really wasn’t sure why he was being so dramatic about this. He’d been brooding on being left in the dark at the Dursleys for weeks now all but wallowing in self pity. So, why did talking about stuff that had happened years ago affect him like this? It really had been a rough couple of days, he mused, maybe he was just tired. Maybe it was teenaged mood swings, Aunt Petunia was always accusing the neighbourhood teens of having. Not her precious Dudders though, he was an- there it was again, thinking about the Dursleys again. Had they always penetrated his daily life like this? He couldn’t remember.

            It didn’t really matter anyway, he wouldn’t be seeing them at least until next summer, and not even then if Fleur had her way.

            Harry chuckled a little reaching for a relatively holeless shirt, Fleur seemed to have a lot of grand ideas about his future. It was kind of nice to have someone worry for him, and take care of things for him. This was what he’d thought having Sirius around would be like, what having a real guardian around would be like. The second he thought it he felt extremely guilty for it. It wasn’t like it was Sirius’ fault he couldn’t be around to do the things Fleur, and to a lesser extent Krum were doing. He hadn’t asked to be framed for the murder of his best friends. But, when Sirius had had to run again at the end of third year, after asking Harry if he wanted to live with him. . . Harry had been really disappointed. Really disappointed. Was it wrong of him to be enjoying the attention he was getting from Fleur? As unnerving as it was to have her so focused on him, it felt . . . nice.

* * *

 

             Humming to herself Fleur descended the stairs, trying to shake the lingering depression from listening to Harry talk about his f – relatives. He was right, relatives really did fit better. She hummed a little louder.

            Who did these people think they were to treat a child like that? Especially one so kind and brave as Harry Potter! Fleur and Harry were almost perfect strangers, but even she had been able to see what a wonderful person he was after just seven months. Well, more so after he’d saved Gabrielle. But honestly, there’d been all those articles about him, and she’d thought he’d schemed his way into the tournament! How was she to know the tournament had been set up? These people had known Harry almost his whole life, how could they see this brave, good hearted boy and treat him that way?

            Giving up on the humming, Fleur huffed and shook out her hair. The damage had been done, now the only thing to do would be to start fresh and offer him what he’d never had, a home.

            Harry had mentioned something about staying with his friend ‘Ron’. She vaguely remembered a tall red haired boy who had been with Harry at the lake. She’d have to look into these people and make sure they were treating Harry right.

            “Look,” snapped a voice from the kitchen, “is she there or not?”

            Fleur pulled up short, just outside the kitchen, the voice did not belong to Viktor but it did sound very familiar. . .

            “She is not here, go avay.” Viktor’s voice growled from inside the kitchen.

            “This is the floo address she gave me,” the familiar voice said, sounding like it was grinding its teeth. “Can you tell me if she was here, or where she went?”

            Fleur gasped in pleasure, she’d only given Viktors’ floo address to one person.

            “Bill!” She called, running into the kitchen and falling to her knees in front of the fire leaving a disgruntled Viktor practically unnoticed at the table. “What are you doing ‘ere? Is there something the matter at the bank?”

            Bill couldn’t keep the goofy grin off his face at Fleurs enthusiasm to see him, she really could light up a room with that smile.

            “No, nothing’s wrong at work.” He assured her, “I just needed to ask you a quick question.”

            “Oh?” Fleur leaned in closer to the floo, cocking her head just a little to the side. “What is it?”

            “Well, here’s the thing, I’m trying to get a hold of Harry Potter. You haven’t been in contact with him since the Triwizard tournament have you?”

            “’Arry?” Fleur asked, frowning a bit. “Why do you ask, Bill?”

            “I’m actually doing this as a favour to my brother.” Bill said quickly, cursing the need to fudge the truth even a little. “He’s a Friend of Harry’s, and he hasn’t heard from him in a little while. We went to check up on him last night but he wasn’t home. I just thought since you were in the tournament with him, you might know where he was.”

            Fleur frowned, glancing over her shoulder at Krum who was glowering at Bill. She didn’t know if Bill’s brother really was friends with Harry. He could just be making it up. But why? To get close to The Boy Who Lived? Could Bill, her sweet Bill, be working for whoever wanted to cause Harry harm? That couldn’t be it! Bill would never –

            “Bill, we first met at ‘Ogwarts, did we not?”

            Taken aback, Bill blinked quickly. “Ugh, yeah. Just before the Third task.”

            “You came to watch ‘Arry compete?”

            “Yeah, me and Mum both went. Figured the kid needed all the support he could get, and I felt like I practically knew him already. Ron doesn’t talk about much else in his letters. Me and Harry did this, me and Harry did that. Joined at the hip, those two are.”

            Fleur grinned at this. There was no one besides Gabrielle who knew that she’d cornered Bill outside the stands just before the Third Task. He really was just concerned for his brothers friend! And ‘Ron’? Hadn’t Harry just been talking about his friend Ron a moment ago?

            “I did not realise ‘Arry’s friend Ron was your brother! I ‘ave met Ron, and ‘Arry speaks of ‘im fondly.”

            “So, you have been talking to Harry then?”

            “But of course!” Fleur laughed, tossing her hair over her shoulder and catching a glimpse of Viktors’ sour expression from the corner of her eye. “I was speaking to ‘im only a moment ago! Viktor, would you mind telling ‘Arry ‘e is wanted at the floo?”

            Viktor gave her a curt nod and stomped out of the room, not looking the least bit pleased about it.

            “Hey, Fleur?” Bill said, once Viktors footsteps could be heard on the stairs.

            “Mhm?” She said, looking back to Bill.

            “Can I ask where you are exactly?”

            “Hmm, I am visiting Viktor in Bulgaria.”

            “Oh yeah?” Bill said, seeming torn between being impressed and a bit alarmed. “You took Harry with you all the way to Bulgaria?”

            “Bill?”

            Bill and Fleur looked up as Harry entered the kitchen, Viktor slouching along behind him.

            “Hey, Harry!” Bill greeted the boy, looking him over as he approached. He looked a little tired, but other than that the run in with the Dementors didn’t seem to have done him too much harm.

            Harry came over and sat next to Fleur on the floor. She scooted over to make room for him and even reached out to run a hand over his hair, trying in vain to make it lie flat. Bill watched with a raised brow as Harry raised his own hand to repeat the action when she pulled away, sending Fleur a rueful smile when it proved futile. Maybe these two were closer than Ron and Hermione had thought.

            “So, ugh, what did you need Bill?” Harry asked shifting a little. “How did you even know to call here?”

            “Good question.” Krum growled in the background.

            Bill sent him a glare before he turned back to Harry. “Well, Ron and Hermione were worried when you didn’t respond to the letters. So, they asked _us_ to go check and make sure you were alright. Only you weren’t there. Mum practically had to tie Snuffles to the stove to keep him in the house when we couldn’t find you. The _others_ are really worried about you mate, I really think you should come _home._ ”

            Harry blushed a little at the implications. He should have known his friends would be worried about him. By the sounds of it Sirius wasn’t exactly calm either. Bill said his Mum had tied Sirius to the stove? So he was with the Weasleys, then. When had that happened, were they all at the Burrow? Harry couldn’t help but feel a stab of bitter jealousy for his friends and Godfather all holed up together, when he’d been scrounging around for any sort of information. It stung just a bit.

            “Non.”

            Harry and Bill both looked round at Fleur, who had her arms crossed tight across her chest, a scowl firmly in place on her lips.

            “Ugh, no?” Bill asked a tad hesitantly.

            “That is right!” Fleur declared, nodding sharply. “I said ‘e will not be going _‘ome_.”

            “Fleur,” Bill said in what he hoped was a placating tone. “Harry has to come back to England, if he doesn’t the Ministry will – “

            “I know what theMinistry will do.” Fleur snapped. Harry leaned away from her, throwing Krum a desperate look over his shoulder. “’E will be at the trial. But, you ‘ave no right to send ‘im back to those people.”

            “Those people?” Bill was starting to wish he’d just told his mother he had the floo address where Fleur was staying and set _her_ on them. “Listen – “

            “Non, I will not listen! ‘Arry will be staying with me. There is no more to say. I will see you at work, Bill.” Plunging her hand into her pocket Fleur whipped out her wand and sent a jet of water onto the fire, extinguishing it before anyone could get so much as a word of protest out.

            Harry gaped at the smoking pile of charcoal in the fire place as Fleur rose to her feet in a wave of rippling fabric.

            “Come,” She said with an impatient gesture to Harry, “We must prepare for our appointment!”

            Nose in the air, Fleur strode out of the kitchen, house coat flaring out behind her in a disturbing resemblance to a certain Potions Master. A thought Harry promptly throttled and buried in a dark corner of his mind.

            What exactly was he supposed to do now? His friends and Godfather were looking for him . . . and apparently Mrs. Weasley as well. They’d probably be less than thrilled that he’d run off to Bulgaria with Fleur of all people. He could just imagine Ron’s face when he heard he was staying at Viktor Krums’ townhouse. And what would they think when Bill went back to them with Fleur’s refusal? He was sure that Bill hadn’t meant he wanted Harry to go back to the Dursleys. If the Weasleys had gone to check on him then they’d probably intended to take him back to the Burrow, but Fleur obviously hadn’t gotten that.

            Harry stood slowly chewing his lip as he worried. He really couldn’t do anything about it right this second. Fleur had put out the fire after all, and any letter he sent would probably get to them after they got back to England. It would be easier to stay with Fleur and send them a letter once they were back. They weren’t staying much longer anyway.

            From the corner of his eye Harry noticed Krum still standing by the table. He had his hands in his pockets, and an expression on his face that seemed eerily close to amusement.

            “You seem . . . pleased.”

            “Yes.” Krum said, with a small grin.

            “Can I ask why?”

            “I did not vant him in my kitchen.”

            “Right.”

* * *

 

            Bill fell back on his arse spluttering and coughing up water. That could have gone better. But at least they knew where Harry was now, even if he was in Bulgaria. At least he wasn’t likely to run into any Death Eaters there, and if the Order couldn’t find him then the odds of them finding him were slim.

            Fleur was presenting a bit of a problem though. He’d never seen that side of her before. Granted they’d only know each other a few months, but he felt they’d gotten close in that time, and he was starting to really like her. He knew that Fleur had a soft spot for Harry after what they’d been through as Champions. Ron had mentioned Harry ‘saving’ her younger sister, that kind of thing was bound to breed familiarity. But she seemed almost possessive, the way Bill’s Mum got when she thought someone had it in for one of her babies. And his mother imagined threats everywhere.

            Which was all great material for speculation, but it didn’t really help his problem. How in the hell was he supposed to tell the Order that Fleur had taken Harry and didn’t want to give him back? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *For the charming MischaBella, who requested an early update. I had the time and desire to avoid my studies so here she be! Enjoy, though don't get too used to frequent updates. The end of semester approaches, and with it comes an all consuming apathy for life.*


	5. Get it in Writing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *This particular world and everything in it belongs to J.K. Rowling, the rest is me putting words in her characters mouths.*

            Bill stood on the front step of Grimauld Place, just inside the wards, chewing on his lip and trying to think up some way to tell the Order what had happened. Everything he came up with was far too similar to - Harry Potter, Fleur Delacour, and Viktor Krum walk into a bar. . . That was a sure way to get himself shot by his own mother. Want to know where your surrogate son is? Have a bad joke instead. Sirius at least might enjoy it. . .

            Before he could work up the courage to let himself into the house the door swung open, nearly hitting him in the face as he tried to jump out of the way and still stay inside the wards at the same time.

            “Watch it!” Bill cried as his shoulder thumped solidly into the side of the house. A head of bubble gum pink hair peeked around the door frame at him in surprise.

            “Wotcher, Bill.” Tonks said. “I was just coming to look for you. Did you find the Potter kid?”

            “It’s a bit complicated.” Bill hedged, blushing. “Is Dumbledore inside?”

            “Yeah, he’s still in the kitchen, everyone is.” Tonks said.

            “Great.”

            Tonks stepped back and let him in; they tiptoed past the portrait of Sirius’ mother, and Tonks led the way into the kitchen. Just as she’d said, everyone was still there, from Dumbledore himself right down to Ginny.

           “Ah, Bill!” Dumbledore cried, drawing the attention of the rest of the room onto the duo. “What have you to tell us?”

           Tonks half stumbled over to sit in the empty chair beside Mad-Eye, leaving Bill shuffling awkwardly by the door by himself, feeling his face heat under the collective gaze of the room. “I, ugh, well. . . see I – “

           “Bill, dear, did you find him?” Molly asked in that voice that echoed out of Bill’s childhood to remind him that there would be trouble if he didn’t hurry up and get to the point.

            “Er, technically, yes.”

            A wave of relief washed over the room, the twins high fived, Sirius and Ron cheered, and Molly put a hand to her heart with a gushing exhale. Hermione, on the other hand, cut through the general celebration with a scowl.

           “What do you mean ‘technically’?”

           The rooms attention focused back onto Bill; he felt like he could feel exactly where his mother’s gaze hit the side of his face. “Technically, I did locate him.”

           “So, is he with Fleur?” Hermione pressed. She was leaned half over the table, like she might launch herself over it at any moment and shake the information from Bill.

           “Yeah, yeah he is.”

           “Well, where are they then?” Ron demanded. It was like he’d opened the flood gates for the others to start questioning.

           “Is he alright?”

           “Did he look ok?”

           “Has he been eating?”

           “Why didn’t you bring him back?” Sirius shouted just a bit louder than the rest. They quieted down, some looking to Bill for an answer, others giving Sirius a wary glance, and those who didn’t know Harry personally looked to Dumbledore – for guidance or thinking this was all a big joke, Bill wasn’t sure.

           “It’s a bit complicated.”

           “How is it complicated?” Sirius barked. “You knew where she was, she’s with him, bring him back!”

           Bill had never argued with Sirius before. The ex-con tended to joke around with Bill, treating him the same as his younger brothers. It was harder to see the shadows Azkaban left when he was swapping prank ideas with the twins or joking around with Ron and Ginny; but Bill could see them now.

           “He isn’t exactly in England.” Bill hedged.

           “Then where _is_ he?” Remus asked, putting a hand on Sirius’ arm.

            “Bulgaria.”

            It was like they’d all been stunned. No one from Ginny to Dumbledore seemed quite sure how to react.

            “What’s he doing in Bulgaria?” Tonks asked, sounding faintly impressed.

            “I would assume Miss Delacour has taken Mr. Potter to visit Mr. Krum.” Dumbledore said, white brows furrowing over steepled fingers.

            “They took off in the middle of the night to have a Champions reunion, did they?” Fred asked with a snort.

            “Nah, it was late evening at most.” George corrected.

            “Quite right, George.” Fred nodded. “But he still took off without so much as a word! The nerve of that boy!”

            “Really very shocking,” George agreed. “Almost like some sort of youthful rebellion.”

             “It does seem like that,” Fred said, scratching sagely at his chin. “But that can’t be right!”

             “No, of course not!” George exclaimed. “Our dear Harry would never dream of such a thing.”

             “Not in a hundred years.”

             “Not in a thousand.”

             “Not in a milli –“

             “That’s enough, boys!” Arthur snapped. “You’ve made your point.”

             “We’re wasting time.” Mad-Eye growled. “We know where the boy is, so let’s go drag him back.”

             “There’s a problem with that plan.” Bill said, rubbing his temples. “Krum had his floo warded. He had to accept me in before I could get my head through, and Fleur shut down the floo on me, I doubt they’re going to let us back in.”

             “So we walk up to the front door.” Tonks said. “It’ll just take us a few extra minutes.”

             “Well, that’s the thing.” Bill sighed. “I only ever had the floo address, so I don’t actually know where they are.”

             “You said they were in Bulgaria!” Molly cried.

             “They are!” Bill assured his mother. “But it’s a fair size country isn’t it?”

             “He’s still underage!” Molly insisted. “He’s still got the trace on him, can’t we track him with that?”

             “To track Mr. Potter with the trace we would have to use the Ministry’s facilities.” Dumbledore said, stepping into the conversation for the first time, much to Bill’s relief.  

              “With their current feelings towards myself, and those of you who are known friends of mine, they would not only forbid us its use, they would most likely track Mr. Potter down themselves.”

             “Which we can’t risk,” Remus said nodding.

             “Obviously.” Sirius and Snape muttered, jerking and looking at each other in a near perfect mirror of motion when they realised what they’d done. Bill choked down a laugh as they both scowl and looked away. Sirius snarled at Remus, as he was less successful than Bill at hiding his amusement; and Snape glowered at McGonagall, who didn’t even try.

             “So how do we find out where Krum is staying then?” Tonks asked, pulling at strands of Ginny’s hair in what looked to be an attempt at a braid. “Could we get his address from his coach?”

            “They wouldn’t give out information like that.” Ron said. “For the players protection.”

            “Why do I get the feeling he knows from first-hand experience?” Ginny stage whispered to Tonks.

            Ron’s ears flushed a deep red as the twins snickered. Hermione waved him down as he looked about ready to launch a full scale defense of his own honour. “It doesn’t matter; I know where Viktor is staying.”

* * *

 

            Harry watched dubiously as Krum haggled with a scruffy looking little man over the cost of three tattoos. Krum had assured both Harry and Fleur that the man, whose name Harry couldn’t even begin to attempt to pronounce properly, was the best in the city; but Harry was still a bit unsure. Neither the man, nor the property had instilled any great confidence in him. It was a one story little cottage with moss growing on the shingles, crushed between two large town houses. Inside it was dark, and a little dingy looking. The windows had the drapes pulled tight and the only pieces of furniture in the front room were a straight backed wooden chair, and a long table piled high with scrolls.

            Fleur was standing at the table, pulling each individual scroll open, giving them a quick glance and then tossing them away. The scruffy man was watching her out of the corner of his eye as he talked to Krum, every now and then he looked like he wanted to tell her to knock it off and leave his scrolls alone, but then he’d turn to face her full on and the impulse seemed to just melt away. Harry half thought she should be doing the haggling, it wouldn’t even matter that she couldn’t speak a word of Bulgarian, the scruffy man would probably do the work for free if her tone was sweet enough.

            As the negotiation went on Harry felt his eyes begin to glaze over. Was it really that hard to name a price? What the hell was he asking for that Krum wouldn’t settle? The little tattoo artist was getting quite red in the face as Krum shook his head at what Harry could only assume was the latest demand. _Maybe we should just go to another place,_ Harry thought. _If . . .this guy is so hard to deal with. I probably should know his name. He is going to be craving ink into my back, it’s only polite._ Harry scrunched up his nose, trying his best to get his mental tongue around the foreign name. After a solid minute of trying, and failing, Harry gave up entirely. _I’ll just call him Dilbert. He looks like a Dilbert._

           “’Arry!” Fleur called excitedly, waving Harry over. “Come! Come see!”

           Harry moved to peer over her shoulder at the scroll she was holding open excitedly. It had an inked picture of a Hungarian Horntail curled around a brown spotted egg, one clawed foot tapping possessively at the shell. As Harry watched the dragon huffed out a cloud of smoke that billowed around its body, bouncing off the edges of the parchment and then fading away until it returned to its normal color.

          “Does this look like the one from the first task?” Fleur asked after a moment.

          Harry watched the Horntail flick its tongue out around its own muzzle, blinking yellow eyes slowly. “A bit less angry.”

          Fleur gave a chuckle like tiny bells blown in the breeze and set the scroll down on the table. “I thought that we could each ‘ave the dragon we faced in the first task. With the golden egg for the second task, and the date of the third task underneath. What do you think?”

          Harry looked back down at the dragon as it coiled its tail tight around its own body. He remembered the sickening fear as he walked down to the pitch the day of the first task. How he hadn’t wanted Hermione to leave him alone in the tent. He could almost feel the heat of the flames again, and hear the hiss of the crowd as the Horntail nicked his shoulder. He remembered seeing Cedric through the screen in the medical tent, and his relief and joy when Ron came with Hermione to check on him. He remembered being in the maze, racing head long and knowing Cedric would get there first. But most of all he remembered were the voices. Fleur screaming somewhere deep in the maze, Cedric yelling at Krum, his own voice shouting a warning as a the gigantic Acromantula rushed towards them, Cedric calling out to a lone figure walking towards them in the dark, and the quiver in Peter Pettigrew’s voice as he ended Cedric’s life.

            “I think it’s a great idea Fleur.” Harry said, forcing a smile out. “But, maybe instead of a golden egg, we could make it a Swedish Short Snout egg? That way Cedric is more a part of it.”

            Fleur’s eyes glazed over for a moment, like the idea had dropped itself in front of her for examination; a slow smile crept across her face as her eyes refocused.

            “A brilliant idea, ‘Arry!” she said, reaching out to clasp his face with both hands – the hand that still held the scroll scratched and crumpled around the side of his head, but Fleur was too busy swooping in to paste a kiss on each of his cheeks to notice.

            An indignant squawk brought Harry’s attention back to Dilbert again. The man was gesturing wildly at Fleur, spouting off angry Bulgarian. He reached out to tug the parchment from Fleurs hand, stopping barely an inch from prying her fingers open when Fleur brought her other hand up and planted her palm firmly on the middle of his forehead.

           “What is the meaning of this?” Fleur screeched, the sound grating against Harry’s ear drums as her fingers curled and dug into her captives scalp. “We are your customers! this is not ‘ow a good business should be run!”

           “Fleur!” Harry yelped, more than a little concerned for the unfortunate man. “You’re not really supposed to be crushing the merchandise either.”

           For an excruciatingly long second Harry regretted speaking up. Fleur turned to face him, her eyes showing no recognition and her hand never loosening its grip. “What was that?”

           “The parchment.” Harry said, feeling a little bead of sweat break out on his forehead. “He’ll, well, he’ll need that to be flat won’t he? If it’s crumpled the tattoo might come out crooked, or something.”

            Fleurs expression cleared almost instantly; and as she handed the scroll over to Dilbert Harry let out a sigh of relief. Hermione got mood swings sometimes too, but they’d never been that bad.  Maybe it was something that developed over time, like other . . . assets girls tended to possess.

            Harry shook himself out of a down right disturbing train of thought that involved a very _developed_ Hermione who roared at him while handing him an elaborate pudding in time to hear Fleur telling Krum about Harry’s idea for the egg.

            “It will not take much to alter the design, I think.” Fleur sighed happily.

            Krum nodded, turning to Dilbert rely Fleur’s order. Dilbert did not seem to think it was as simple. He rattled off a very long list of words Harry couldn’t understand, shaking the parchment, and cheeks puffing out every couple of words as he forced more air behind his objections. It was something like watching a storm be contained in a only slightly expandable space. Krum didn’t seem nearly as impressed, and just kept shaking his head and pointing to Fleur; Harry could only assume he was saying something along the lines of, she’s paying the bill so you better do what she says. Eventually Dilbert let out a breath that rattled his jowls, and thrust the sheaves of parchment at Krum, still grumbling under his breath.

           Krum just nodded as he accepted the parchment and pulled a quill out of his jacket pocket. He bent over the table and started scratching away. When he finally straightened up he revealed the Horntail now curled over a large speckled egg that had _MCMXCIV_ scrawled across it. He held it out for Harry and Fleur to see, Fleur nodding happily.

            Harry frowned, brushing two fingertips across the page. “The letters?”

            “They are Roman numerals for 1994.” Fleur assured him. “For Cedric, just like we said.”

            “Right,” Harry said, again forcing a smile out as his mind’s eye took him back to a lonely grave yard. “It looks great.”

             “So we are agreed then?” Fleur asked. “This is the design?”

             “Yeah,” Harry mumbled in consent, as Krum gave a single nod.

             “Bein!” Fleur gave her hands a swift clap. “Viktor, tell le meiseur we will require that design with a Fireball et un Common Welsh Green as well.”

             “How does it. . . work exactly?” Harry asked, face flushing over his own stutter while Krum relayed Fleurs words to Dilbert.

             “The tattoo?” Fleur asked, offering him a smile and a quick squeeze to the forearm. “Le meiseur will send the ink through the pattern that ‘e will ‘old to your shoulder.”

             “Er, what does _that_ mean exactly?” Harry asked again, nose wrinkling up.

             “He vill spell the ink to pierce our skin in the place that the pattern ve choose indicates.” Krum said, as the artist busied himself with preparing the two other designs.

             “Just all in one go?” Harry said, impressed.

             “Oui!” Fleur chirped happily. “Simply as that!”

             It did sound simple, but Harry remembered hearing Dudley’s friend talk about all of the tattoos he’d gotten, and he did have a few. He’d bragged about how long they’d taken and how much they’d hurt. Would this hurt less because it wasn’t going to take as long, or would you just feel it all at once? Harry worried his bottom lip as he caught Krum watching him.

            “I vill go first.” Krum declared.

            “D’accord.” Fleur hummed, pulling Harry out of the way so Krum could sit. The portly little tattoo artist shuffled over as Krum sat heavily. He unbuttoned his shirt halfway and slipped his left arm out of the sleeve. As soon as his shoulder was bare Dilbert held the first  piece of parchment depicting the Chines Fireball up and pressed it to Krums skin. Fleur made a tisking noise in the back of her throat as the man rotated it slightly to the left.

            “Non, pas la!” She called, smacking his hands away.

            Dilbert snapped something back out her in Bulgarian, nearly choking on his tongue when he met Fleur’s glare. He took an unnecessarily large step back as Fleur arranged the picture of the dragon just so.

            “Viktor, you must tell him the colors must match perfectly.” She told him, humming contentedly and patting the picture twice before stepping away.

            “He knows.” Krum said.

             “Tell ‘im anyway!” Fleur glowered at him over his shoulder for a moment before stepping back and looking to Dilbert with a pointed glare.

             Krum huffed out a sigh, and did as he was told. Dilbet looked as though he would like nothing more than to send Fleur straight out of his shop, but he didn’t so much as look at her, he simply placed a steadying hand onto Krums back and raised his wand to do his job.

            Harry watched as the man raised his wand arm in a deliberately slow arch, muttering incantations Harry didn’t know all the while. When his arm was point straight above his head, Dilbert stopped moving and muttering in the same instant, holding his arm upright, until Harry was sure he’d forgotten what he was supposed to be doing. Dilbert stayed that way in silence for nearly a solid minute until, quite unprompted by any outside forces, he swung his arm back down. The tip of Dilbert’s wand ripped a purple static trail all the way back down to the parchment covering Krums shoulder. He came to an abrupt halt, and the purple static rushed from the tip of his wand to the parchment; they played over the outside for a moment, looking like tiny little fish jumping out of the water, then dove under the parchment and out of sight. Dilbert smoothed his hand over the parchment one last time, then gripped a corner and tore it off Krums’ back.

            Harry craned his neck and peered around Fleur, trying to get a look. It had worked perfectly. On Krums shoulder was the exact imprint of the original picture, the tiny Fireball lay behind the brown spotted egg with its tail curled around it protectively. It stared out at the word, red and orange scales glistening in imagined light, and a puff of immobilized smoke partially escaping its nostrils. Harry noted that the imprint didn’t move, something he was a bit glad of, if he was completely honest. Who knew where a moving tattoo would get to? Would it feel like something was crawling under his skin, or would he even notice it? It gave him a bit of a headache just thinking about it.

            Krum stood from the chair, pulling his shirt back on, buttoning it back up as he stumped over to stand with Harry.

            Fleur grabbed the collar of Krums’ shirt as he passed, peering down his back. She inspected the handy work, nodding in satisfaction, before releasing Krum and flouncing off to take his place on the chair. Krum glared at her back, stumbling forward to regain his balance. He pulled his collar straight, looking away as Fleur began to strip off her own shirt.

            “How does it feel?” Harry asked Krum as Fleur seated herself on the stool, gripping her shirt tightly in one fist, and flicking her bra strap off her shoulder with her free hand.

            “Strange.” Krum grunted. “But I vill grow accustomed.”

            Harry nodded, not entirely sure whether he should be comforted by that or not. It really wasn’t much to go on.

            Krum chuckled, a noise that sounded like he was gagging on cotton Harry cocked a questioning brow at him, and Krum nodded towards their tattoo artist who was practically drooling over Fleurs exposed back.

            “We really should have gotten Fleur to haggle a price.” Harry muttered, dragging another gagging chuckle out of Krum.

            Fleur shot them a glare over her bare shoulder as she clutched her shirt to her breast.

            “I ‘eard that, Harry Potter!” she snapped.

            “What?” Harry asked, wide eyed. “You don’t think it’s a good idea?”

            “Non,” Fleur conceded, pouting. “I just do not like that I am the second choice.”

            Harry barked out a laugh. “Right, so sorry. We really should have been more considerate.”

            “Apology accepted.” Fleur said. “Now, come make sure that the parchment is straight.”

             Harry looked to Krum, one eyebrow cocked, but Krum just jerked his head in Fleurs’ direction in the most unhelpful manner. Harry sighed, if this tattoo came out crooked and Fleur killed him for it, he was most definitely haunting Krum for the rest of his natural life.

             Stepping up to stand at Fleurs shoulder Harry waited for the artist to place the parchment on her shoulder, but the man made no move to do any such thing.

            “Er, whenever you’re ready.” Harry said, gesturing for the man to go ahead. When he didn’t move Harry cleared his throat. “Sir? Can I have the picture . . . um, please?”

           Fleur huffed impatiently, grumbling in French; which brought a sigh from the portly little man, but no other movement. Harry looked back over his shoulder to see a very amused looking Krum hadn’t so much as stepped forward.

           “You can jump in whenever you feel like it.” Harry said, jerking a thumb towards the transfixed Dilbert.

            Krum grunted, and barked out what Harry could only assume was a request for action that startled the man into action. The artist jumped, at Krum with all the intensity of a sweaty palmed observer of strip tease interrupted mid show. He slapped the parchment into Harry’s outstretched hand and folded his arms, tapping his foot impatiently.

            Harry schooled his features into neutral indifference, remembering that he had yet to let the man work his magic on Harry’s own body art. Harry was of the firm belief that certain people should always be kept in a good mood. Healers were at the top at that list, but tattoo artist were rapidly climbing up it. Especially considering Harry had no idea what the magical procedure for removing a tattoo was. He supposed there was one. . . after all, they could vanish solid objects. But, what if they had to vanish his whole arm to get rid of it and then he had to grow a new one? Harry shuddered.  Re-growing the bones in his arm had hurt enough, he didn’t even want to think about having to regrow all the muscles and skin along with it.

           Pushing that set of morbid thoughts out of his head, Harry set to making sure the parchment was straight, and facing the right way up on Fleurs shoulder. He took a step back and twisted his head from side to side, it looked straight to him. He nodded to the tattoo artist, offering him a smile that utterly ignored. The man simply set to repeating the process of imprinting the image onto Fleurs shoulder, barely giving Harry time to jump out of the way, much to the teens annoyance.

            A moment later the man pulled the parchment away from Fleurs shoulder to reveal a rather different version of Krum’s tattoo. The Welsh Green, stood on its haunches behind the brown speckled egg, gripping it passively. The claws on its toes curled around the black numerals, and its teeth flashed like it would begin to snap its jaws, like its printed counterpart at any moment.

             “’Ow does it look?” Fleur asked.

            “Looks great.” Harry said immediately.

            “It is straight?” Fleur pressed.

            Before Harry could open his mouth to assure her that it was in fact facing the right way up Krum pulled out his own wand and conjured up two mirrors. He levitated one to float behind Fleur and handed her the other so she could get a look at her own back. Fleur spent a good couple of minutes examining her new tattoo, turning the mirror to and fro trying to get the best angle.

            “You don’t want to see yours?” Harry asked Krum, only just realizing the older teen hadn’t had a look at his own piece of body art.

            “No.” Krum grunted. “Fleur would have told me if there was something wrong with it.”

            “Fair enough.” Harry conceded.

            Fleur finally seemed to have decided that there was nothing amiss with her own shoulder, she’d tossed her conjured mirror over to the tattoo artist, who seemed to be becoming rapidly disenchanted as Fleur did her shirt back up. The man’s sour expression was back and it was Harry’s turn in the chair. Goody.

            “Ready, ‘Arry?” Fleur asked, not moving far from her seat. Harry could only assume she intended to place the parchment on herself.

            “As I’ll ever be.” Harry said, unbuttoning his shirt and moving towards the chair.

            He sat, still pulling his left arm out of his sleeve, and watch Fleur hold out her hand to the increasingly angry looking little tattoo artist, the man passed her the mirror. Un-amused, Fleur accepted the mirror, then held out her other hand expectantly. 

            “Donnez-moi le papier!” Fleur prompted when he did nothing more than deepen his frown.

            The artist looked to Krum, for what Harry assumed was clarification. Though he wasn’t sure why, Krum had asked for three tattoos hadn’t he? It should be pretty obvious what was required.

             Krum grumbled out a few phrases in Bulgarian, gesturing to the table full of scrolls, then back to Fleur and Harry. The little artist scrunched up his face and waved his hand over towards Krum himself and then at Fleur. Krum shook his head, pointing at Harry.

             “What’s going on?” Harry muttered to Fleur. “Did he not think I was getting one too?”

            “I do not know,” Fleur whispered back, hands on her hips. “Viktor! What is the problem?”

            “He says the price we agreed vas for two, not three.” Krum said, shushing the little artists babbling with a raised hand of his own. “He says ve vill have to pay five more gallons for Potter’s tattoo.”

            Fleur frowned. “Did you not tell ‘im that there were three of us?”

            “Hmm.” Krum nodded. “I did. He claims that he only knew of two.”

            “I can pay.” Harry piped up. “I brought gallons, I wasn’t sure how much it would be so just brought what I had. I can definitely pay five gallons.”

            “That is not the point, ‘Arry.” Fleur said. “’E is trying to cheat us. We will pay the agreed upon price and no more.”

             Krum nodded, “Of course.”

             “We will tell ‘im _after_ ‘e completes ‘Arry’s tattoo.”

             “Of course.” Krum said, nodding again. He turned to the artist and apparently agreed to the terms. The artist nodded and immediately picked up the third piece of parchment, the one with Harry’s Hungarian Horntail on it.

            “What did you tell him?” Harry asked Krum, Keeping his voice low for no other reason than it was something this sort of situation usually called for.

            “I simply told him that a fair price vould be paid.” Krum said, a small smile tugging at his lips. “That is all.”

            “Right.” Harry said, only half aware of Fleur snatching the picture of the Horntail from the artists’ hand and placing it carefully over Harry’s shoulder. The artist grumbled darkly and waved at her to get out of the way. “And when he’s done we pay him . . .?”

            “The price we agreed upon at the beginning.” Fleur said, stepping out of the way as the tattoo artist began his process.

            “Why do I get the feeling this isn’t going to go over so well?” Harry muttered. “I do have the gallons, you know. We could just pay him, avoid all the has – yeaouch!” Harry yelped as it felt as though a glass of water had poured itself under his skin. It sloshed around just under the skin, swirling around for a full thirty seconds before it settled into a denser pool, like half formed gelatine resting against his shoulder blade.

             Harry looked up to see Fleur nodding sympathetically at him.

            “It is a strange feeling, non?” She said, holding out the mirror Krum had conjured up for her.

            Harry accepted the mirror, and waited until Krum sent the larger mirror behind Harry to start angling the little hand held one to get a look at his own back. The Hungarian Horntail stood up on its haunches much like Fleurs Welsh Green, but without the lazy tranquility hers displayed. The Horntail had its leathery wings spread wide, tail raised mid thrash, and jaws open wide with teeth on full display. It wasn’t gripping the egg either, its clawed front feet were poised on either side, like they were ready to impale the hand of the next idiot who thought they’d try to snatch the egg away. It certainly seemed like the same beast Harry had been locked in with. _Suppose that makes it a success,_ Harry mused.

            “I recon it turned out alright.” He said out loud, turning a bit so both Fleur and Krum could see. “What do you think?”

            “Fitting.” Krum grumbled.

            “Hhm,” Fleur nodded. “Very brave looking.”

            “Right,” Harry said, hastily pulling his shirt back on, and buttoning it. “So, that’s it then?”

            “Oui,” Fleur said, putting an arm around Harry’s newly clothed shoulders and began to steer him towards the door.

            Harry followed her lead for a few steps before he realised that she meant to simply walk right out and leave the grimy little building behind. “So, that’s the plan then?” Harry asked, half whispering for no good reason seeing as Dilbert couldn’t understand him. “Just walk away.”

            “For you and me, oui.” Fleur nodded, tugging him into motion again. “Viktor will give ‘im ‘is money, and we will ‘ave no more use for ‘im, or ‘e for us.”

            “Well, when you put it like that.” Harry said, laughing a bit nervously and hoping that Dilbert didn’t freak out and hex Krum. They made it all the way to the door and almost had it closed behind them, serenaded by incomprehensible Bulgarian at an ever increasing volume, when a jet of red light flashed past Harry’s left ear and shattered the grime smeared window beside the door.

            Harry ducked and whirled, hand shoved into his pocket and gripped his wand, looking for the attacker. It seemed Dilbert had indeed freaked out, but he hadn’t tried to hex Krum. Well, that or he had the absolute worst aim Harry had ever seen. Harry had turned around just in time to watch as Krum grab Dilberts’ wand arm and force it to point towards the ground, and crack him solidly on the jaw with his free fist. Dilbert toppled to the ground like a pile of boxes had been knocked over. Krum stood over him scowling, as he dug through his own pocket, he pulled out a handful of galleons and dropped them onto Dilberts chest; the gold coins bounced and rolled off of him and disappeared into the dark corners of the room. Krum gave the little man one last glare and gestured for Fleur and Harry to continue on out the door.

            Continue on they did. The three of them left the dirty little shack without another word between them, stopping only to shut the door behind them before walking back to Krum’s town house. It was a bit of a long walk, taking them just under an hour, but the day was bright and warm and Harry couldn’t help but smile as he felt the ink of the Horntail under his skin squirm as it switched positions. It stopped moving about half way back, and Harry hoped that it had got comfortable . . . and also that it didn’t make a habit of doing that while he was trying to sleep.

* * *

 

            They hadn’t stayed at Krums’ for long, just long enough to gather up both Harry and Fluers things. Fleur insisted that they head back to England immediately and begin preparations for Harry’s approaching trial, she seemed to think that if they didn’t get everything sorted right this second that they’d never get it done in time. Again Harry was reminded a bit of Hermione and her mad preparations for exams, and Harry felt a mild stab of guilt over not telling her and Ron about where he’d gone off to. But he couldn’t bring himself to feel too bad about it, he’d never had any intention of telling them about the tattoo idea, it had just seemed a bit too personal. He’d shared every major event in his life with Ron and Hermione, except for this one. And as much as they’d been there to support him from the sidelines they would never know what it had been like to walk in that maze when Crouch really set his plans in motion. The confusion, the fear, and the helplessness he and the other champions had gone through were alien to them; and it felt a bit wrong to have them share that part of his life. He didn’t know what he would say when they asked where he’d been or why he’d left, he just knew that he wouldn’t enjoy that conversation.

            These thoughts kept him quiet and more or less occupied as Fleur and Krum said their good byes, and when Krum clapped him once on the shoulder Harry smiled to thank him for everything he’d done. Fleur held out her hand, and that was it. Suddenly Harry found himself retracing the steps the two of them had taken just the night before. This had been a very long day . . . and it was only half over.

            When the world finally settled again, Harry and Fleur were standing in a very narrow alley or two white stone brick buildings.

            “Where are we?” Harry asked, rubbing at his temple.

            “Upper Brook Street.” Fleur said, pulling Harry out of the alley and down the quiet street lined with still more white stone buildings, punctuated with some lighter colored brown stones, all of them looking very old and very important.

            “You live here?” Harry said, feeling a tad underdressed just standing outside.

            “Oui, it is a family ‘ome.”

            “I thought you were French?”

            “Mais oui,” Fleur said, smiling as she stopped at what Harry assumed was her home. “My grandfather was not.”

            “Right.”

            Fleur opened the door with a tap of her wand and gestured him inside. He stepped in and gapped. Harry was very certain that if anyone had ever put their house together so as to impress their visitors it was the person who put this house together. There were neo-roman columns needlessly holding the ceiling up, large mirrors, and every bit of furniture looked beautiful and highly uncomfortable. Fleur led him through the entry way into a slightly smaller, but much cosier looking sitting room. It was still well put together, but Harry was left with the impression that Fleur had set this room up herself, rather than some long ago ancestor.

            “Make yourself at ‘ome!” Fleur insisted, guiding Harry to a silver patterned love seat. She pushed down on his shoulders until he sat, and smoothed down his hair in reward. “I just need to make a quick floo call, I won’t be long!”

            Fleur disappeared into the kitchen with a swish of blond hair and a quiet click of a closing door; leaving Harry among what seemed to be a sea of pale coloured china ornaments and plates. Each figure was enchanted to move, and they ranged from dancing couples to willow tree patterns, and Harry spent a few moments shifting around in his seat and making awkward eye contact with the little figures as they twirled. They winked and giggled and sped up their steps, as though to impress him; and even the willow trees seemed to rustle their leaves a bit more when his gaze landed upon them.

            Once, when Harry was six he’d accidently dropped one of Aunt Petunia’s porcelain dogs. It was a tiny brown terrier that fit into the palm of Harry’s hand. He’d been told not to touch it, but it looked so pretty in the sun, and he’d been told not to do so many things. Where was the harm in picking up the figurine? Not to mention that that small act of defiance was so very satisfying, but tiny hands never did have the surest of grips. The little dog had shattered, scattered across the floor. Harry remembered being amazed at how far the pieces went, now he couldn’t help but wonder if these figurines would feel it if he dropped one of them. This line of thought led to some rather disturbing questions about wizard chess pieces, which were routinely smashed to bits for the entertainment of witches and wizards, and transfigured animals. . . Maybe he’d have a chat with Professor McGonagall when he got back to Hogwarts. Well, if he got back to Hogwarts. . .

            Who was Fleur trying to get a hold of anyway? The Queen? What was taking so long?

            One little set of figurines did a spin and a dip on the table next to Harrys elbow, and Harry decided to go check on Fleur. He heaved himself out of the love seat and was down the hall with the kitchen door half open, a palm pressed to the wood, when it struck him Fleur might not want to be overheard. By then it was too late. The kitchen door swung open and smacked Harry in the centre of his face.

            “’Arry!” Fleur cried. “I am so sorry! I did not know you were there!”

            “I’m fine.” Harry said, clutching at his forehand and nose. It felt like his face was about to split open, it was a wonder his glasses hadn’t broken in half.

            “Are you sure?” Fleur asked rubbing a circle with one finger over his brow. “I could conjure some ice.”

            “No, no. It’s fine” Harry said, taking a step back and breaking the contact.

            “Did you need something?” Fleur asked, dropping her hand back down to her side.

            “Er, no.” Harry said, confused. Hadn’t they just had this conversation?

            “Oh?” Fleur asked, frowning. “Then why were you coming to the kitchen?”

            “Er,” Half a stage of embarrassment from swallowing his own tongue, Harry felt his face flush as he struggled to form a complete sentence. A plausible explanation that _didn’t_ make him seem completely abnormal. Right, he could manage that. “Got lonely?”

            “Lonely?” Fleur laughed. “I was not gone more than a minute.”

            “Well, yeah.” Harry muttered. In the back of his mind he filed that one under “mission failed”, and abandoned ship. “So, you got a hold of who you needed to then?”

            “Oui,” Fleur said, smiling. “I spoke with my father. ‘E says he knows someone who can ‘elp.”

            “Er, help with what sorry?” Harry asked.

             “With your trial, of course!”

            “Oh!” Harry exclaimed. “I thought we were going to go talk to Mrs. Figg?”

            “We are.” Fleur nodded, “but I think that we will need ‘elp when dealing with the Ministry. Viktor and I spoke of this before you woke this morning.”

            “What kind of help?” Harry asked, a bit nervous.

            “My Papa ‘as a friend who speaks on behalf of their company to the Ministry of France. I ‘ave asked if ‘e will ask ‘is friend to speak for you too.”

            “What do you mean he speaks?” Harry asked, starting to feel over whelmed again.

            “’E studies the laws and when the company wants something done or need ‘elp from the Ministry it is ‘im who speaks to the Wizgmont. ‘E also ‘elps use the laws to protect the company.”

            “Sounds a bit like a solicitor.” Harry said.

            “What is a solicitor?”

            “Never mind.” Harry muttered. He really needed to remember to stop doing that when there weren’t any muggleborns around. Where was Hermione when he needed her? Thinking of Hermione sent a sharp spike of guilt through his stomach again and he vowed to send an owl to her, Ron, and most importantly Sirius; who was probably not too thrilled with him if he was having Bill Weasley track him down. “So, how is a speaker going to help me then?”

            Fleur brightened up instantly, the frown she’d acquired trying to figure out what her young friend was talking about smoothed under a smile. “A Speaker will be able to show the Ministry in their own language that they were wrong to put you on trial.”

            “So, are we not going to see Mrs. Figg then?” Harry asked.

            “Oh, oui. We will need all the ‘elp we can get.” Fleur said, nodding. “Their is nothing more powerful then an eye witness ‘Arry!”

            “Not all the time.” Harry muttered darkly.

            Fleurs brows clinched together sharply. “It may take time, but in the end, no one will be able to call you a liar, ‘Arry. You will see.”

            “I’ll have to take your word for it.” Harry said. “As far as I can tell people hear what they want to hear, and not a whole lot else.”

            Fleur smiled sadly and wrapped her arms around Harry’s thin shoulders. “There will always be people who do this,” she said petting the back of his nick, “but most only do because they ‘ave only Fudge to listen to. They ‘ave not seen any evidence, or ‘eard you speak, what else can they think? Someday they will know better, and they will see ‘ow wrong they were. So long as those who know the truth speak, they will not forget.”

            “Promise?” Harry asked, shooting for Devil-may-care, but he knew he gave himself away in the hesitant way he returned her hug. He just couldn’t quite stop himself, he really wanted to believe her.

            “Pour vrais.” Fleur said, squeezing him tightly one last time.

            Just as Fleur stepped back from the impromptu snuggle session a melodic ringing sounded from the front door.

            “Why don’t you go into ze kitchen and find yourself something to eat, hm?” Fleur said, heading off to answer the door.

            Reflecting on just how often he was getting left alone in strange houses lately, Harry pushed on the kitchen door to comply when curiosity struck. He hung back, hand still pressed on the partially open door, listening as Fleur’s soft foot falls grew further away, and the rattle of the door knob rattled as she pulled it open.

            “Oui?” Fleur said. “Can I ‘elp you?”

            “Hello Fleur,” Harry’s eyes widened at the sound of a very familiar voice.

            _Bloody hell,_ Harry thought bemusedly, _get ignored for ages, but I’m gone for one day and suddenly the cavalry’s out to haul me back._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again!  
> This may be the last quick update for a little while, there may or may not be an update next monday or tuesday - but I have end of term papers and exams to look forward to so I won't promise anything.   
> Enjoy, and thanks for reading!


	6. Never Walk Away Angry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See endnotes for all pertinent information.

Bill scrapped his short nails over the back of his neck, watching as his youngest brother, Ron, pulled Hermione Granger up off the ground where she’d fallen when their portkey landed. It had taken a good twenty minutes for the order to sort out exactly who was going to be sent on this little rescue mission. None of the adult members of the order had liked the idea of Ron or Hermione going, but Krum had already shown he wasn’t exactly welcoming to strangers and Hermione was the one he knew. Ron had insisted on going with her immediately, dragging a blush out of Hermione and vehement objection from Molly. She’d just barely been persuaded by Dumbledore himself, who’d taken a liking to this idea. As he put it, Bill had already introduced their cover story as Harry’s friends being ever so concerned with his whereabouts; the next logical step would of course be for them to seek him out.

“Okay.” Bill intoned over his shoulder as the two teens trailed slightly behind him. “Just remember – you can’t say anything about the Order, or Dumbledore, and don’t mention Siri- !”

“We know, Bill!” Ron hissed, tugging on his brothers’ arm. “We’ve been keeping Snuffles a secret for ages.”

“We’re here looking for Harry, as concerned friends, that’s all.” Hermione said, dusting invisible bits off her jacket. “You are our mode of transportation, so just let me talk to Viktor.”

She pushed passed him as they came up to Krums townhouse, making sure Ron had come to stand beside her, slightly in front of Bill before she reached out and rapped smartly on the door as Bill raised his eye brow at Ron. 

Ron shook his head and waved Bill down, as though saying just not to bother arguing. They waited in silence for a moment until they finally heard footsteps approaching. The door was wrenched open to reveal Krum scowling out at the world, though the dour expression did lighten considerably when he noticed Hermione.

“Herm-own-ninny.” Krum said.

“Hello, Viktor!” Hermione said warmly, reaching a hand towards Krum, which he promptly clasped. Ron instantly acquired a sour look, only getting worse as he noticed Bill suppressing a grin.

“Vat are you doing here?” Krum asked, the scowl returning as Bill himself was spotted. “You are Fleur’s friend?” 

“Yeah, we spoke earlier.” Bill said, glaring at Ron as the boy snickered.

“We’re actually looking for Harry.” Hermione said, bringing Krum’s attention back to her with a squeeze to his hand.

“Potter? He is not here.”

“Can – I mean, do you know where he is?” Hermione pressed, trying to signal Ron to shush as she saw him make a jerky distressed motion to interrupt.   
“Vhy must you find him?” Krum asked.

“He hasn’t been responding to our letters.” Hermione supplied promptly. “And then last night we went to see him, and he was just gone! We're just worried, Viktor. We want to make sure he’s alright.”

“He vas here.” Krum admitted after a pause long enough to have the concerned smile Hermione wore cracking at the edges. “But he and Fleur have gone home.”

“Gone home?” Hermione repeated, dropping Krums hand. “To Surrey?”

“No.” Krum shook his head. “Harry is staying with Fleur.”

“Oh, yeah?” Ron blurted out. “When did that happen?”

Krum shrugged and looked at his watch. “An hour ago.”

“Alright, can you tell us where Fleur lives, Viktor?” Hermione said. “We just really need to find him.”

“I cannot.”

“You can’t?” Hermione said, crest fallen, at the same instant that Ron blurted out, “Why the hell not?”

Krum wrinkled his nose at Ron, then turned his attention back to Hermione. “I cannot. I do not know where she is staying.”

“You don’t have any idea?” Hermione asked. Krum’s face scrunched in a way that made Bill think he was sorry he couldn't answer the girl, and shook his head. Not that it really mattered.

“Alright,” Bill said, clapping his hands together loudly and making both Ron and Hermione jump. “We’d best get going then.” 

“But, Harry – “ Ron protested.

“He’s not here.” Bill said, slowly like Ron was still a toddler. “Mr. Krum doesn't know where he’s gone, so we’re just wasting time. I’m sure he’s a very busy man.”

“You cannot stay for a visit, Herm-own-ninny?” Krum asked.

“Can’t, sorry.” Bill said grabbing both Ron and Hermiones hands and tugging them away before Hermione could so much as open her mouth to reply. “Must carry on!”

“Good bye, Viktor!” Hermione called, waving frantically. “I’ll send you an owl, we’ll catch up!”

The two teens allowed Bill to haul them down the street, probably mostly due to shock, for an entire block before they managed to gather their wits.  
Ron wrenched himself free first, and quite a bit more violently than Hermione, who followed suit a moment later.

“What the hell, Bill?” Ron yelled.

“Ronald!” Hermione hissed, stepping up beside Ron and gripping his arm. “Keep your voice down!”

“Sorry,” Ron grumbled. “Sorry, I’m a little upset my brother isn’t bloody doing his job!”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Ron.” Bill said, rolling his eyes.

“Dramatic? Harry could be anywhere, and Krum is the only one who might know where he is!” Ron’s voice cracked half way through the exclamation, as he tried to keep his voice level.

“First off, Krum already said he didn’t know where Harry was.” Bill said, ticking off a finger. “Second, we don’t need him to tell us because I already know where Fleur is staying.”

“What?” Ron asked blankly, as Hermione nodded, rubbing at the wrist Bill had pulled on.

“Well then, let’s go.” Hermione insisted.

“Where are we going?” Ron asked, looking from Bill to Hermione.

“Where ever Fleur is staying.” Hermione said, turning to Bill expectantly.

“Right,” Bill grabbed a hand each from his brother and Hermione and hauled them into a nearby alley way, “We’re off to London then.”

LINEBREAK

“So, exactly how long have you been dating Fleur again, Bill?” Ron asked for the fifth time as they trooped down the footway of Upper Brook Street looking for the Delcour’s building.

“I’m not dating Fleur.” Bill said through gritted teeth. The first couple times his brother had asked that question Bill had just tried to distance himself from Ron, the same way he had when Ron was a kid, but walking too fast for ‘little Ronnie’ when the kid was almost as tall as Bill himself hadn’t worked out nearly as well as it had in the past. That, coupled with the sound of poor Hermione panting as she very nearly ran to keep up with the two Weasleys, had Bill dropping back to a regular persons walking speed and wearing his molars flat out of frustration.

“Sure you’re not.” Ron chuckled. “That’s why you didn’t tell mum you knew where she was staying?”

“I didn’t tell mum because I knew she’d over react.” Bill snapped over his shoulder at Ron. “It has nothing to do with my relationship with Fleur.”  
“Sure it doesn’t.” Ron said, openly grinning now.

“Look,” Bill said, coming to a stop and turning to face a very startled looking Ron and Hermione. “Fleur and I have gone out on a couple of times, but not enough to be called dating. I do like her though, so if you screw this up for me I’ll pay the twins to make your life a living hell, got it?”

“Got it.” Ron said, going pale.

“Good.” Bill turned and started walking again, letting a smug grin slide over his face as he heard the other two scramble to keep up with him.

They rounded a corner and Fleurs ground floor flat and Bill pointed it out to the other two, falling back just a bit to let them pass.

“It’s number eight there.” He said pointing over Hermione’s shoulder.

“Aren’t you going to ring the bell?” Hermione asked when Bill made no move to approach the door.

“It’s probably best if you do it.” Bill said solemnly. “She’ll remember you from Hogwarts, right?”

“I hope she doesn’t.” Ron muttered.

“Still,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes at her friend. “She is your . . . friend. It’ll be less confusing if you ring.”

“Yes,” Bill agreed, “but she might not answer.”

“Ugh, why not?” Ron asked.

“She poured water all over our floo connection last time we talked,” Bill shrugged. “I didn’t exactly take that as an open invitation to pop in for a visit.”  
“Why’d she do that?” Ron snorted, choking on the end of it as Hermione elbowed him in the ribs.

“She just sort of flew off the handle when I told Harry to come home.” Bill said, glaring at Ron. Ron and Hermione both raised their eyebrows at him, both thinking the same thing – What was this woman’s plan? 

“Just go ring the bell.” Bill prompted waving a hand at them.

Hermione stepped up and gave the bell a ring, Ron standing close behind, and Bill trying to fade into the background.

They waited and soon enough they could hear light footsteps approaching. The door knob rattled around, and the door opened to reveal Fleur peering around the edge of the door.

“Oui?” Fleur said, not opening the door fully. “Can I ‘elp you?”

“Hello Fleur.” Hermione said brightly. “I don’t know if you remember us, but I’m Hermione Granger, and this is Ronald Weasley. We –“

“Oui, je vous connais!” Fleur exclaimed, eyes lighting up when she saw Ron and pushing the door all the way open. “’Arry ‘as spoken of you! And I remember you of course! You – “

Bill waved, forcing out a grin as Fleur stopped mid-sentence when she’d spotted him. Her eyes narrowed, lips pursed, and brows crossed, starring at Bill in silence. Just as the silence stretched out to the point where even Hermione was fidgeting, Fleur slammed the door closed, drawing out a flinch from the three on her step.

“Wow,” Ron chuckled weakly, scratching at the back of his head. “You weren’t kidding.”

“Thanks, Ron.” Bill snapped. “You’re a great help.”

“Fleur!” Hermione yelled, pounding furiously on the door. “Open this door!”

“Hermione!” Bill yelped, lunging forward to grab her arm.

“Let go!” She screeched, attempting to yank her arm out of Bill’s grip. “I’m sick of this running around! She knows where he is!”

“You’re going to have to stop if the muggle police come take you away for being a bloody lunatic!” Ron hissed, trying to help his brother rein in his friend by gripping her other arm.

“I don’t care!” Hermione said, kicking her foot out at Bill. “We told Snuffles we’d find Harry, and I’m not going back until we do!”

“Shut up about Snuffles would you?”

All three combatants whipped back around to face the house only to find the object their search, one Harry James Potter, standing in the door way looking positively scandalized.

“Harry!” Ron and Hermione cried launching themselves on their friend. Or at least Ron did; he picked Harry straight up off the ground and squeezed all the air out of his lungs, before dropping him back onto his feet. Hermione simply jerked back abruptly, as Bill still had a firm grasp on her forearm. She whirled around, ready to bite off his fingers if he didn’t let go, but Bill dropped her arm before she had the chance. Once she was free she tackled Harry, who had only just regained his balance, and immediately started berating him.

“Oh, Harry!” She said into his shoulder. “We were so worried! Are you all right? Why did you leave like that? Do you have any idea what we’d thought happened to you?”

“Would you get in here?” Harry hissed, tugging at Hermione’s jacket as she tried to hold him at arm’s length to get a better look at him. “Before somebody hears you!”

Properly chastised, Hermione let Harry pull her inside and give her a shove to keep her moving into the entry room. Harry held the door for the two Weasleys with his jaw set in a painful line and shut the door with a loud snap when they’d made it through. None of them went far, not really knowing where to go, a little bit afraid of being run back out by Fleur, and distinctly wrong footed by Harry’s irritation left them milling about midway between the coat rack and the front sitting room. 

“What were you thinking?” Harry snapped, turning back to his friends. “Running around London in the middle of the day, shouting your head off about Snuffles? You’re going to get him caught!”

“I-I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking!” Hermione stammered through both sets of fingers over her lips. Her cheeks flamed red, as she wavered before seeming to find her mental footing. “Do you realise the chaos you’ve caused? The O – Everyone has been looking for you, why on earth did you leave?”  
Harry blushed, mouth snapping closed with a loud click. He ran a hand through the hair on the back of his head. “I thought I’d be back before anyone noticed.” He replied honestly.

“You are unwelcome ‘ere, Bill.” Fleur’s voice snarled from down the hall. She stood in the entry sitting room, fists clenched and eyes locked onto Bill.

Ron leaned over to his brother, never taking his eyes off of the angry woman and muttered out of the side of his mouth, “I believe you now.”

Bill glared at his brother, who shrunk away so he was leaning more towards Hermione, before he focused back on Fleur. “You’ve made that very clear, and we’ll go, but we really need to take Harry with us.” Bill never saw the murderous expression take over Fleurs face as he turned to Harry and said, “His guardian is very concerned over his disappearance.”

“Yeah, you mentioned that,” Harry muttered. 

“His guardian has no business being concerned now!” Fleur said folding her arms over her chest and staring Bill down, daring him to disagree.

Ron and Hermione looked wide eyed from Fleur to Bill and finally to Harry, who was only marginally less confused than they. Though he was stumped on exactly what he should say. How was he supposed to diffuse the situation with Sirius’ secrecy intact? Could he trust Fleur with this? It wasn’t really his secret to tell though. . .

“Er, what?” Bill said, looking to Harry for any explanation. Harry didn’t have one; he was looking to Bill for guidance, what should he say? Should he leave with them, just like that? He shot a glance to Fleur from the corner of his eye, she had so many plans. Plans to help him, plans that included him; no one else had ever extended him that curtsy before, even Sirius had been so closed lipped. He couldn’t just walk away from that, not after everything she’d done for him. On the other hand though, there was no way in hell Ron and Hermione going to walk away without a proper explanation.

“Anyone else starting to feel like there’s been a misunderstanding?” Harry asked the room at large, shoving his hands in his jean pockets.   
“Is that what we’re calling it now? I thought we were just playing really a really shit game of twenty questions.” Ron said with a lopsided grin for his best friend; which Harry returned, albeit with a more rueful air.

“If we’re all quite done with the jokes,” Hermione huffed, “perhaps we could all sit down and talk about this rationally? I mean – “ She backtracked suddenly, looking nervously to Fleur. “If it’s alright with you?”

Fleur, who had been glaring holes through Bill’s skull nodded once and stormed away into the kitchen in a whirl of blond hair and billowing robes leaving the rest to mill about in the entry way.

“So, we’re following her then?” Ron asked, pointing to the still swinging kitchen door Fleur had disappeared behind. Harry rolled his eyes and led the way through the door Harry assumed led to the kitchen, belatedly he thought this made him look as though he knew where he was going and wished he had followed Fleur faster. 

Fortunately for him the door did lead to the kitchen and Fleur hadn’t gone any further than that; she was banging about the counter with a kettle and five tea cups. Harry wavered for a moment, unsure of what to do next. Should he help Fleur with the tea? He felt like he should, but he was a little bit afraid she’d bite his head off if he got too close. She solved his dilemma for him just before he caused a pile up in the door way as the others filed in after him by waving him over.  
“Do not let him talk you into anything,” Fleur only half whispered to him when he made it over to her. “You do not have to go anywhere you do not want to.”   
“I don’t think that’s really the issue,” Harry assured her as she levitated the assorted tea cups and kettle, “these are my friends.”

“Hmm,” Fleur sniffed, directing the cups towards the dark stained wooden table that the others had sat themselves around. For a long couple of minutes it seemed no one was willing to risk rousing Fleurs’ wrath by breaking the silence. There was much shuffling, shifting, and folding of limbs, until finally Hermione couldn’t take it anymore.

“I think we’ve all done quite enough running around in circles.” She said, looking straight at Harry. “Do you have any idea what a fright you gave us? What were you thinking?”

“I’m sorry.” Harry said, his shoulders getting tenser the longer she went without blinking. “It was just supposed to be a quick trip. There and back before anyone even knew I was gone, you know? Actually, how did you know?”

“Know what, that you were gone?” Ron asked with a forced sort of chuckle as Hermione’s eyes narrowed – still not closing completely. “Didn’t think we’d just leave you alone after a Dementor attack, did you?”

“You’d left me alone till then.” Harry muttered, the bitterness eeking out between the satisfaction of seeing them both so abashed and the guilt over knowing he’d caused them enough concern to chase him down in London.

Ron and Hermione exchanged that both seemed to say I told you so, and a healthy amount of you go first. Ron lost the staring match, and turned pleading eyes on Harry.

“We wanted to write more, mate. Hell, we wanted you to come straight back with us, but, well. . .”

“Dumbledore felt you were safer with the Dursleys for the time being.” Hermione finished as he faltered.

“Ha!” Fleur cried at the same time Harry scoffed “that worked out really well, didn’t it?”

“Fleur, can I talk to you privately for a moment?” Bill stood, knocking his chair back so it teetered on its back legs. He waited as Fleur eyed him, she seemed ready to tell him to either throw him out or order him to sit back down, and Bill braced himself for a proper dressing down when she nodded. He blinked at her back for a moment as she headed for the door at the back of the room, before he snapped out of his shock and followed her out.

Ron and Hermione sent him worried looks as he passed while Harry watched Fleur go with a frown. Bill grimaced at his brother and closed the door behind himself and turned to face Fleur, who was standing in the middle of a spacious sitting room, hands on her hips.

“Well?” She demanded, barring her teeth.

Bill raised his hands in peace. He’d never seen Fleur like this before. Sure, she’d been fairly spirited but this was a whole other Quidditch match! Energetic, eager to prove herself, and proud had morphed into bad tempered, and kicked over hornets’ nest defensive. “I don’t know where you got his idea that we’re out to get Harry, but I swear we’re not!”

“I do not think you are ‘out to get ‘im’,” Fleur groused, “but I will not let you take ‘im back to those people.”

“What people?” Bill demanded, throwing his arms out his arms. Why, he wasn’t sure, but it did sort of make him feel better; as though at the very least the world could see his frustration. “I’ve been trying to take him back to stay at my parents place!”

Fleur deflated quite suddenly, she had one hand extended to wave a finger at him with whatever she’d been about to say; but now the finger was slightly crooked and her shoulder drooped. “Your parents?”

“Yes!”

“You are not taking him to ‘is relatives?”

“No.” Bill said, vowing to never run half-cocked into one of Dumbledore’s errands ever again.

Fleur blushed a vibrant red and swayed on the spot a bit; like she was unsure whether or not she wanted to flat out jump for the window or just make a dash for the floo. The moment passed, and she squared off her shoulders, and lifted her chin up.

“So you know about the Dementor attack then?”

Bill blinked once at the change of subject, but then let his own shoulders droop a bit and a solemn expression spread over his face. “Yeah, Harry sent Ron a letter right after it happened. He and Hermione were so worried I agreed to side along aparate them over to Little Whinging.”

Fleur pursed her lips over crossed arms. “I ‘ad not realised that ‘Arry ‘ad not told anyone where ‘e would be. ‘is uncle was also very surprised to see me.”

“Was he?”

“Oui,” she nodded. “I was going to take ‘im right back, you know. It was only meant to be a quick visit.”

Bill chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, well that’s what a miss communication will do.”

“Mhm, I can only imagine the confusion it would ‘ave caused if we ‘ad simply kept traveling.” Fleur chuckled. “Really though, you should ‘ave just said where you wanted to take ‘im. You were saying “’ome” I assumed you meant ‘Arry’s ‘ome.”

“Ugh, well, it’s been a fairly stressful night.”

“My intention was never to cause your family worry. I thought only to get ‘Arry out of that place.” 

“Yeah, about that, what happened exactly?”

“At this point it is becoming a long story,” Fleur sighed.

“In one night I’ve been thrown out of the same fire place twice, had to tell a room full of people I’d lost the Boy Who Lived, and listened to a kid whose diapers I used to change take the piss out of me for all of the above. I’d really appreciate an explanation.”

Fleur smiled apologetically, and turned to sit on the edge of the nearest love seat. She patted the cushion next to her and waited for Bill to accept her invitation before she started her tale. 

“The whole thing was Viktors’ idea.” she said “’e felt we should find a way to honour Cedric’s memory in our own way. After everything, it only seemed right.”

“We, as in you Krum and Harry?”

Fleur nodded, clasping her hands in her lap. “We were all there as Champions that night. It could easily have been Viktor or I in Cedric’s place. ‘e was a very kind boy.”

Bill nodded. He’d never met Cedric Diggory himself, but his dad had been working on and off with Amos Diggory for so long he’d heard enough stories. “So, what did the three of you do exactly?”

“Viktor thought Cedric should ‘ave a memorial, only, well,” Fleur dabbed at the corner of her eye with her sleeve.

“Only no one is going to call attention to his death, not with everything else going on.” Bill nodded.

“Exactly. So, Viktor suggested we created a memorial it would ‘ave to be kept between the three of us. Drawing attention to Cedric or even ‘Arry could be problematic; and then I ‘ad and idea – if we carry ze memorial with us we could always honour ‘is memory.”

If this whole mess was over these three getting matching charm bracelets, Sirius might actually pull something laughing. Actually, Bill wasn’t sure how to handle this. On one hand the kid had sent an entire secret organization into an uproar over a memorial trinket; on the other the kid had been pulled through the ringer and gone to pay his final respects to a friend. Merlin, he hoped his mother didn’t fly off the handle and emotionally scar this kid for the rest of his life. 

“That’s really sweet, Fleur.” He said “I’m glad the three of could do that together, but, ugh, why did you all have to go to Bulgaria for it?”

“Well, Viktor’s friend knew a very talented artist. ‘E did a fantastic job, though ‘e did try to charge us far too much!”

An artist; how the hell was artwork a practical alternative to a traditional memorial . . . oh no. 

“Fleur,” Bill said, already lamenting how much of his mother was going to come out in this question “did you take a fourteen year old kid to get a tattoo?”  
To her credit, Fleur did blush; though she followed it up by defiantly raising her chin and glaring at him over the ridge of her own nose. “It was ‘is choice, I only gave ‘im the opportunity.”

“Yeah, this is going on the list of things I can never tell mum.”

Fleur lowered her chin back down to non-confrontational level with a smile. “Is it a very long list?”

“Getting it longer by the day.” Bill clamped his jaw shut so fast he clipped the tip of his tongue with his front teeth. “I, ah, I didn’t mean that how it sounded.”  
Fleur pulled blush from him with a delicate laugh. “I am sure you are a perfect gentleman.”

“Right, so you took a minor to get a tattoo in memory of Cedric Diggory, without the consent of his go–guardians – “

Fleur scoffed, her spine snapping out of the relaxed postured she’d adopted and back into the battle ready pillar she’d been sporting previously. Bill was sure some day he’d learn to filter his words, someday.

“Alright” Bill said, heaving a sigh through his nose “before I put my foot in it anymore, you’d better explain.”

Fleur’s posture loosened a touch, though her shoulders stayed tight. “I went to pick ‘Arry up from ‘is relatives ‘ome – we ‘ad agreed before that I would collect ‘im and bring ‘im to meet Viktor in Bulgaria. I got there just after the attack, ‘e didn’t say anything about it at first, though I do not blame ‘im.”  
“What do you mean?”

“That dreadful man ‘it ‘im!”

“What! What man?” 

“’is Uncle! When I arrived at the house ‘Arry ‘ad a ‘and print on ‘is face!” Fleur practically snarled, holding her own hand up to her face to demonstrate. “That-that baleine of a man tried to tell me that ‘Arry didn’t live there, but ‘Arry ‘eard my voice and called out to me. ‘E came out of the kitchen and my ‘eart nearly stopped.” She pressed her face into her hands as a sob bubbled out of her throat.

Bill blinked – oh fuck. Harry had seemed okay when Bill had spoken to him, hadn’t he? Bill thought back to the floo call earlier, he hadn’t noticed any unusual redness or bruising. The kid had been in good enough spirits, despite all the confusion. He’d seemed a hell of a lot better than the last time Bill had seen him at any rate.

“Arry swears it wasn’t a regular thing.” Fleur continued “E says it was the stress of the attack that brought it on, but, well . . .”  
“That’s what a lot of abuse victims say.”

“Oui.” Fleur nodded, she pulled her wand out of her sleeve and conjured herself a proper dainty looking handkerchief to dab at her cheeks with. “E insists that ‘e and ‘is relatives co-exist well enough, even if they do not get along.”

“You think he’s lying?”

“Non, non I do not. I pressed ‘im on it, I did.” She assured him “I eventually got ‘im to admit to some rather sever neglect, and ‘e seemed so surprised.”  
“Surprised that you pressed him you mean?”

“Non, it was like ‘e was just realising how badly ‘e ‘ad been treated. It was ‘eart breaking.”

Silently Bill thought back to the summer before, when he’d met dark haired boy who’d tumbled through out of his parents fire place covered in soot. The same kid who had stepped between Bill’s father and the twins to defend their actions against his own family. Bill had dismissed it as siblings squabbling. Merlin knew he’d gotten into enough fist fights with Charlie when they were growing up, but what if it was more than that?

“Is he alright?”

“Oui, oui, the swelling went down and there does not seem to be a mark. ‘E even accepted my ‘elp.”

Bill nodded, twisting his fingers together before he pressed his palms together. “Yeah, made him a bit hard to get a hold of.”

Fleur had the decency to look a bit sheepish, even if she couldn’t hold back her smile entirely. “I am sorry. I should ‘ave realised someone would come looking for ‘im sooner or later – especially with ‘is expulsion.”

“Does he know he isn’t actually expelled yet?”

“Oh, ‘e does! I promised ‘im I would get mon papa’s Speaker friend to ‘elp.”

“Oh,” Bill said “you think a Speaker will be necessary? It’s just a hearing – dad says he’ll just have to explain what happened to Madam Bones.”

“They expelled ‘im for self defense against dangerous creatures, do you really think that a hearing is all this will be?”

Point to Fleur, Bill grouched silently. “Honestly, I wouldn’t put it past Fudge; but this is a case for Bones’ department. She’s fair, as soon as she hears what happened she’ll let Harry off.”

“It may be Bones’ department, but it is Fudges’ Ministry.”

Bill had to admit, her slight paranoia was frighteningly probable. It wasn’t like the papers had been pulling its punches when it came to discrediting Harry in the eyes of the general population. How convenient would it be for Fudge if Harry were expelled for shooting off advanced spells just for the hell of it in a muggle neighbourhood? “Okay. Yeah, you’re probably right – but I’m sure Dumbledore will be able to handle anything Fudge can cook up.”  
Fleur cocked her head to the side, a slight wrinkle in her nose. “Dumbledore?”

“Yeah, he is the Headmaster. The expulsion of students is kind of his jurisdiction, isn’t it?”

“’Arry made no mention of ‘im. I assumed the Ministry ‘ad taken the matter out of ‘is ‘ands.”

“Eh, they’re trying but Dumbledore usually has a couple of plans up his sleeve.”

“I did not realise you knew the man so well.” Fleur said, rearranging the hem of her own sleeve. “”E seemed a bit aloof from the students while I was at Hogwarts.”  
“Ah, he’s a . . . family friend.” Oh good. A pretty girl was half a step from getting him to spill the secrets of an underground society whose only protection for its members was secrets. Fantastic.

“And you believe ‘e will be on ‘Arry’s side in all this?”

“Very sure.”

Fleur hummed, nodding her head. “Good, ‘e will be useful asset. Despite ‘is own trouble with the press lately. ‘E should still ‘ave some pull with the older members of the Ministry. Don’t you think?”

“I’d say so, yeah.” Bill said, trying not to laugh. This might actually work out his way!

“Bon!” She declared triumphantly. She got up and very nearly waltzed to a beautifully carved writing desk by the window. From it she pulled out a sheaf of parchment and an ink pot, and continued to call out over her shoulder as she fished around for a quill. “Will you pass on a letter for me? My owl is off delivering a letter to mamen.”

“You want to write to Dumbledore?”

“Oui. We will need to coordinate our efforts if we want present a solid defence.”

So much for keeping her uninvolved. If Bill didn’t turn her off this path she was going to get wrapped up in the conflict, wrapped up in the Order of the Phoenix. With all its secrets, codes general espionage, and silent warfare. The more Bill thought about that, the less it seemed like a bad idea, actually. Fleur had successfully kidnapped the Boy Who Lived right out from under their noses. She was smart, magically talented, and apparently resourceful – she’d make a good addition. Would she want to join though?

“Yeah, no problem.”

Fleur beamed at him, and turned to begin scratching out her letter with the quill she’d unearthed while he was thinking. “Will you see ‘im soon?”

“I’m sure I could get it to him today.”

“Really? That would be very helpful. Thank you Bill.”

“It’s no trouble. I’ll just swing by after I’ve dropped the three troublemakers with my mum.”

Fleur stopped writing abruptly, turning back to Bill with narrowed eyes. “Three?”

“Yeah, um, well they - that is my parents, they sent me to pick Harry up and bring him back to their place.” Had he not said that? He was pretty sure he’d told her that.

“I told ‘Arry ‘e could stay with me.”

“Not really your call though, is it?”

“No,” Fleur said, turning back to her parchment and carving out a last line “but neither is it yours. You can’t take him, and I will not make ‘im leave.”

“He’s still a minor – “

“Who’s guardians are not fit to tell a dog where to be, let alone a boy.”

Well, this turned into a circular argument ridiculously quickly, Bill groaned internally. Seriously, the last time Albus Dumbledore got Bill to run his errands. Bill took a deep breath, he could still turn this around.

“I know,” he sighed “it’s just, my mum is half out of her mind with worry over the kid. She tried to get Harry to go straight to their place when school let out – did Harry tell you?”

“Non . . . ‘is relative would not let ‘im go?”

“You’ve met them, do you think they let him do much of anything?” Not a total lie. They probably didn’t let Harry do much.

“Non, I do not.” Fleur said over crossed arms.

Bill waited, biting the inside of his cheek as she appeared to mull over what he’d said – should he push a bit more? Would she snap and toss them out?  
“Why do you not bring your mother ‘ere?”

Bill blinked – what? “Bring her here?”

“Oui,” Fleur nodded, uncrossing her arms and rolling up the parchment, neatly tying it closed with a bit of ribbon. “Bring ‘er ‘ere – we will ‘ave lunch, she can see ‘Arry is in perfect ‘ealth, and ‘Arry can decide if ‘e wants to go or stay.”

That might very well be the best he could hope for. Mum wouldn’t completely rip his head off for it, Sirius would find the whole thing hilarious and Bill could tell Dumbledore to deal with it himself. 

“That sounds like a good idea.” Bill said, smiling as Fleur gifted him with a bright smile of her own. “We should go let her know now – she’ll want to bring something along.”

“Oh! She does not need to do that!”

“She’ll still want to. Don’t worry she won’t have time to get much together.”

Fleur chuckled delicately and waltzed back over to Bill, handing him the scroll. “Perhaps you could ‘urry ‘er along if you left your brother and ‘is friend ‘ere with ‘Arry and I. I am sure ‘Arry would like to spend time with them both.”

“It might be impossible to tear them apart anyway.” Bill agreed, tucking the scroll into his pocket. His mum might tear him an entirely new hole for leaving her baby out in the world unprotected, but it would definitely ‘hurry her along’.

They walked back towards the kitchen together, Bill stepping ahead to hold open for Fleur to enter first. He earned himself another smile for that, so he was warm with pride as they walked into the insane asylum formally known as Fleur’s kitchen.

LINEBREAK

*Meanwhile in the kitchen*

“What’s gotten into her?” Ron blurted out before the door had finished swinging shut on the heels of his brother and the very irate Fleur.

“She’s a bit worked up.” Harry said, running a hand through his hair.

“Yes, we noticed.” Hermione huffed. “Why is she worked up?”

Harry shrugged and lent back in his chair with a sigh. “I think she thinks that Bill wants to ship me off back to the Dursley’s.”

“Is she worried more Dementors will come after you?” Ron asked slowly.

“Well, maybe. Hadn’t really thought of that . . . do you think they will?” Harry looked to Hermione. Would the Dementors be able to track him down at Fleur’s or would they try Little Whinging again? 

“I don’t know.” Hermione admitted, “but Dumbledore didn’t think there was much danger of it.”

“Well, if Dumbledore says so, it must be true.” Harry groused. He folded his arms over his chest and ignored the looks his friends shot each other. “Fleur’s more concerned because she thinks Uncle Vernon will take another swing at me.”

“Ah,” Ron said, sitting back in his chair and letting his hands fall to his lap. 

Hermione leaned forward onto her elbows, “Another swing at you?”

Harry cursed silently as Ron’s eyebrows shot up into his hair line as he swivelled his attention between Harry and Hermione. There had to have been a better story to tell than that. Seriously, where was his head lately? “Yeah, well, he wasn’t too pleased about Dudley getting mixed up in the whole Dementor business . . . and I did get a bit smart with him.”

“That’s no reason to hit you!” Hermione nearly shrieked.

“Keep it down would you?” Harry said rubbing his ear. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“It is a big deal, mate.” Ron said “those muggles treat you worse than dirt, but here you are effing defending them!”

“I am not defending them!” Harry snapped back “It’s just not a big deal.”

“Harry please!” Hermione cried, reaching for his hand “we’re worried about you.”

“Yeah, well, could’ve used you around after the tournament.” Harry said bitterly. He couldn’t make himself throw off Hermiones’ hand though. Hermione’s displays of physical affection were sporadic, and usually a bit overwhelming, but it was a comfort he’d come to expect. As angry as he was he couldn’t bring himself to slam that particular door. 

“Harry,” Hermione said with another squeeze to his hand. “We wanted to be there. We wanted to be there for you. You must know that.”

“Yeah, cause it was so apparent as you lot buggered off to the burrow and left – “

“We’ve not been at the Burrow!” Ron protested. Harry’s mouth snapped shut on the latter half of the accusations on the tip of his tongue.

“What do you mean? Where were you?” He asked. Ron’s face flushed a deep red as his own mouth clamped shut. He avoided Harry’s gaze by looking to Hermione, begging her with wide eyes to step in.

“You have to understand, Harry.” She soothed, reaching over the table and placing her hand on the crook of his elbow. “We’re not – “

“What? Not allowed to say?”

“It’s more than that!” Hermione said “We can’t say.”

“Can’t? What’re you, sworn to secrecy?” Harry scoffed.

“Well, yeah.” Ron said

That brought Harry to a halt again. “Sworn to secrecy?” They both nodded. “About where you’re staying for the summer?”

“I did try to tell you it was more complicated than you thought.” Hermione huffed, crossing her own arms.

“So, can you tell me why you can’t say?” Harry asked, getting annoyed again. What right did Hermione have to be upset with him? They were the ones who left him alone for ages, after all.

“Not sure how much we can say, mate.” Ron admitted with a shrug. “It’s sort of sensitive information.”

“And what, I can’t be trusted?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“It’s what you meant though?”

“No.” Hermione said firmly. “But it’s not something anyone wants overheard by the wrong ears. Especially you, as it involves Snuffles.”

“Oh, now you’re concerned with not giving Snuffles away.”

“Harry stop!” Hermione cried, giving the table a little slap. “We’re sorry that you’ve been left in the dark, we really are, but we’ll never get anywhere if you keep snipping at us!” 

“I didn’t realise we were trying to get anywhere.” Harry said “from where I’m sitting, it looks like we’re still pretty much in ‘keep Harry in the dark’ territory.”  
“We’re not –“

“Yeah, yeah, but you can’t say anything so we’re right back at square one.”

“Here, we can’t say anything here.” Hermione hissed through her teeth squeezing Harry’s arm with each ‘here’.  
Harry hesitated in jerking his arm out of her vice like grip, ultimately leaving it where it was. He was definitely going to have some interesting bruises later. “What do you mean?”

Hermione noticed the aborted motion though, and released him with a huff. “Honestly, Harry, don’t you think there might be magical ways to keep people from talking about something?”

“What, like a curse?”

“A charm actually.” Ron said with a sigh “We can talk around the thing till the snitch comes back, but with this charm over us we couldn’t so much as tell you what color it is.”

“You actually can’t tell me what’s going on?” Harry said, feeling a bit numb and more than a little foolish. He could feel his face heating up, as Ron looked relieved and Hermione vindicated. “Because of this charm?”

The pair of them nodded.

“Who charmed you?”

“Ugh, well, Dumbledore.”

“Can you at least tell me why?”

“It’s for our own protection as much as anything – not a whole lot of point torturing someone who can’t speak . . . at least that’s the theory.” Hermione said.  
Harry nodded, rubbing a knuckle over his upper lip. So, there at least was something that needed to be kept secret then. It was a little encouraging – to know that Dumbledore was actually doing something about Voledmort’s return; and it was also a bit reassuring to know there was a reason behind his friends silence over the past few weeks, a bit. It didn’t make anything better, but a magical explanation made things much clearer, easier to swallow.

“So, you can’t ever tell me then? I have to wait around till Dumbledore decides I need to know?”

“Like I say, we don’t know a whole lot, but!” Ron said, holding up a hand to keep his friend quiet. “We can tell you what we do know when we get back.”  
“Back where? I thought you said you hadn’t been home?” Ron and Hermione shared anxious looks and Harry threw his arms up into the air with a groan “Do you two realize how frustrating that is?”

“We’re not doing it on purpose!” Ron snickered at his friends dramatics. 

Harry shot him a half-hearted glare, but couldn’t put too much heat behind it – he was exhausting himself being angry about something none of them could change. “Why didn’t you just say you’d been charmed?”

“Dumbledore said not to put that sort of thing in writing, because the owls could be intercepted. I’m not sure if he was more worried about the Death Eaters or the Ministry finding out that he had a large group of people essentially sworn to secrecy, but I’m sure both would be very interested in that information.” Hermione said “All we could do was wait for Dumbledore to bring you to us.”

“We spent ages trying to get someone to tell us when you were going to get brought in.” Ron said, nodding towards Hermione. “They’re bloody tight lipped about security stuff like that.”

“Huh, how long do you think they’d have left me there – if nothing had happened, I mean?” Harry asked, only half wanting to know the answer. 

“I don’t know.”

“Never thought getting attacked by Dementors would be an improvement.”

“Oh, Harry! Don’t say that!” Hermione exclaimed, curling her fingers fruitlessly over the table top.

“Why not?”

“You wouldn’t take it any better if Ron started waxing poetic about having his leg broken so we could find out Si – Snuffles was innocent, would you?” Hermione said, doing her best to keep her voice steady. She was unsure if she wanted to scream at the idiot boy or hug him. How could he be so callous about his own safety? Did he honestly think they wouldn’t care if he was hurt? Had their weeks apart made him forget everything they’d been through? No, Harry was their friend, and they were his. He was grieving, he was angry, he obviously felt betrayed, but he was still their friend. Nothing would change that; he just needed to remember it. She could see him fuming over what she’d said and knew she was right. He was flushed, chewing on the inside of his cheek, his bright eyes were darting around, looking for something to throw back at her. If he needed a fight she’d give it to him.

“That was different.” Harry said finally.

“Oh is it? How?”

“Guys!” Ron said, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else but between his two best friends. “None of this is helpful.”

“And what would be helpful, Ron?” Harry asked, cursing Hermione silently. Had an answer for everything that one.

“Look, we all kind of messed up – none of us meant it!” Ron said, holding up his hands as both Harry and Hermione flushed a fresh angry red “but come on! We never wanted you to get carted off, remember? And I know you didn’t want to scare the ever lovin’ hell out of us all – so can we at least agree that nobody is innocent here?”

Harry and Hermione exchange shamefaced glances, looking away from each other quickly.

“Yeah, okay.”

“Yes that’s fair.”

“Well. . . good.” Ron said, nodding. He knocked his knuckles on the table top once, nodded again. The three sat in silence, avoiding each other’s gaze. None of them wanted to kick start another argument, but none of them knew how to resume with the conversation either.

Scrubbing at the back of his head Harry sighed heavily. He reached out his foot and gave Hermione a nudge with his toe. “Should we be concerned, do you think?”  
Hermione scrunched up her nose “Concerned? About what?”

“Ron was the voice of reason. Isn’t that like a sign of the world ending, or something?”

Ron’s face scrunched up like Harry’d shoved a lemon into his mouth, pulling a laugh out of Hermione by the nose. She slapped a hand over her mouth and nose, wide eyed, as the boys both blinked at her in surprise. She lowered her hand with a glare. Daring them to comment.

Later both Harry and Ron would claim the other broke first. Regardless, all three of them were laughing barely a minute later. Full belly laughs that made them feel like their ribs were being pulled apart. It hurt and none of them could stop, because the whole damn situation was too ridiculous for words. They exhausted themselves trying to put words to it, and now all that was left were mad giggles and uncontrollable snorts. That’s how Bill and Fleur found them – rolling around in their chairs, gasping for breath, desperately trying to wipe tears out of their eyes.

“What on earth ‘appened?” Fleur asked the room at large, smiling herself at the sight of the three happy teens. “I would like to know the joke!”

“Apparently,” Hermione said, choking a little as she forced human speech on herself “the world’s ending.”

“Right.” Said Bill as the teens dissolved into another howling fit “When they stop that, tell them where I’ve gone, will you?”

Fleur nodded and waved Bill out. She sat down next to Harry, watching with a happy smile of her own as the boy clutched at his sides. The exclusion from their private joke was worth this moment, she decided.

 

LINE BREAK

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before anyone says anything yes this is a very very late update. My father has had some very poor luck combined with some very poor health. Family came first, then school, then writing. I'm in my last year of my BA so it'll be a about a month or so before I can do too much more work on this story. This chapter was mostly written before dad got sick, but the next is going to need more work. 
> 
> If anyone is interested I've been toying with an idea for a HP/Avengers crossover for a couple years now, I'll be posting the first chapter to test the waters for interest. Its solidly HP for the first chapter, but the Avengers take up most of the second.
> 
> I beg your patience and understanding
> 
> Emi

**Author's Note:**

> *I have this work published on my fanfiction account under the same title, but under the penname EmmettAnnWithAnE (slight difference, but there you are). As it is still a work in progress, and I am a full time university student, I can’t promise regular updates after the first five or so. School work comes first and all that jazz. To anyone who was reading this fic on the other site – I will still be updating there as well. My absence has been due to family matters not a lack of interest in writing, I hope to be getting right back on the horse.*


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